Destiny
by My Beautiful Ending
Summary: My name is Aeneid. I thought I was normal 'til I discovered my unique gifts, met the King's Rider, & found a sword in my cellar. My werecat friend tells me I have to save the world. Did I mention the sword was a dragon, & I have no idea what to do? Uh oh.
1. Chapter 1

**An: Reuploaded chapter one. This story is just a little side trip, I'm not seeking to write book four. ;) I hope you like it, but I'm writing my own story, and I think everyone should get a happy ending once in a while. If you don't like my story, you don't have to read it. :)**

_"Papa, can we dance again?" I asked my father, Lord Fior, as he set out for a long, tiresome trip to his holdings down in Belatona. It was 'code' for practice swordplay –my mother thought it was unladylike, but I had always thought that the figures spinning around, so light on their feet, swords weaving in and out, resembled a dance._

_He placed a heavy hand on my head and replied with a ghost of a smile, "Not today, Aeneid," he told me. I hung my young seven-year-old head. "But come," he whispered, "I want to show you something."_

_He led me down, deep into our wine cellars, passing cobwebbed bottles of dark drink. "You must never show anyone this, not even your mother," he told me seriously. "You must never come down here without me."_

_I promised._

_He pressed a hidden catch in the wall, which swung open to reveal a damp smelling passageway. Cool air drifted in around my toes. Taking a torch from the wall, he walked in. _

_It wasn't a passage way, just a small room, completely empty except for the chest in the center. I marveled at it; the wood was carved elegantly with scrolling panels portraying battles and mountain scenery…and on the very top was a dragon. My father pushed the chest lid open. The very first thing my eyes lit on was a long box, plain and thin. Pulling this out, my father opened it up. _

_I gasped. _

_It was a sword, but more beautiful than any sword I had ever seen. The sheath was white as ivory, gleaming like the day it was made. The guard was elegantly crafted in the image of waves. It almost seemed like the metal would ripple. The grip was black leather, and the pommel was set with what looked like a large crystal or diamond. On the scabbard there was an elegant symbol. I reached out to touch it, but my father stopped me. _

_"You must never touch," he told me. _

_"Are there more things in the chest?" I asked hesitantly, my gaze still upon the weapon._

_"Yes, but I'll not show them to you now." He closed the lids and led me out of the room, much to my regret. "Now, remember your promise," he instructed me as we reached the first floor of our manor."  
"I shall," I told him with a smile. Giving him a hug, I murmured, "Be safe. And come back soon so you can meet Murgatroyd."  
"Who?" he asked, confused._

_"My friend," I said. "He's not here right now. He comes and goes."  
My mother, the lady Eleanor, had come up behind me, and she placed her hands on my shoulders. "Her imaginary friend," she said tolerantly._

_I frowned. He wasn't imaginary. I'd show father when he came back. _

_He kissed my mother and me goodbye, and mounted his horse, leaving with his entourage. _

_He didn't come back. Waylaid by bandits, they had said. I missed him terribly. But I kept my promise, and the secret of the mysterious, beautiful sword stayed in my head. I told no one._

_Except Murgatroyd. But he already knew, I discovered._

_

* * *

_

"Murgatroyd?" I called, scanning the courtyard of our manner. The rose bushes rustled a few paces away; I dashed over, not heeding the thorns tearing at my blue skirts. Falling into the ground, I crawled into the tangled undergrowth that the gardeners tried without success to prune back. Quite unladylike behavior for a girl of nearly eighteen, but I did it anyway. It wasn't like there was anyone to see me.

His golden eyes glowed in the dim light. I smiled as I heard him say, _Must ye make such a ruckus?_

"I'm glad to see you!" I objected.

_Silently,_ he said.

I rolled my eyes. _Fine,_ I muttered with my mind. _But this isn't really necessary._

_You haven't been practicing, have you?_ He asked.

I chewed my lip, asking myself if I really wanted to tell him the truth. A tail twitch was all the warning that I had before me pounced on top of me –all sixteen pounds of him. _Um, Murgatroyd, you need to lay off the mice,_ I complained.

He dug his claws into my skin and I winced. _You need to start doing what I say,_ he growled.

_I do!_

_Not always._

I stared up at my best friend, frowning. His gold feline eyes were large, with dark obsidian oval pupils. His spiky fur was deep, dark fiery red, but the roots, along with his oversized paws and ears, were black. He was much larger than normal cats, but that was okay –other than when he was sitting on me, of course –since he wasn't necessarily normal.

Werecats weren't, after all.

He finally got off me, and I sat up, taking care not to let the rose thorns pull my carefully braided hair.

_What have I told you?_ He asked me, glaring. If cats can glare. Which they probably can.

I rolled my eyes._ I need to use my gift of speaking mind to mind, because somehow I can do it without thinking. I need to practice. _

_You have a gift! _Murgatroyd growled. _A very important gift. _He stared at you seriously. _More important than you know._

I gathered my skirt around myself. _How can it be important?_ I asked him. _I don't _do_ anything important. _I stared at my hands."I don't even leave the manor," I mumbled. "Just for short excursions to the north when I beg especially hard and that one trip to Tierm when I was ten!"

His ears twitched as he watched stoically.

"What?" I asked.

_That may change soon, _he said seriously. I didn't have a chance to respond before he melted into the shrubbery again.

* * *

"Aeneid Antigone Aithne Angharad Arianwyn Mahret Maeve Fior," her mother said, "Put down that infernal weapon and come to the table this instant!"

I would never cease to be amazed just how easily all eight of my names rolled off my mother's tongue. I was doing well if I just remembered them all, much less said them in less than one minute. Rolling my eyes, I put my practice weapon down and gathered my skirts, following her down the hall. "Mother, why are you putting up such a fuss?" I asked, hurrying to keep up with her.  
"Your grandfather is here for dinner," the Lady Eleanor said, her mouth pinched.

Oh, dear. My mother's father was a very grumpy, stuffy, angry, old man, who was very devoted to the King. My family bordered on respectful obedience. It was a tense subject, since our manor sat only a league from Uru'baen. "Lovely," I mumbled.

"Please be polite," she asked me. "He's going to ask some hard things, but –" she took my hands " –we've got to stay strong."  
"Mother?" I asked, confused.

"Oh, Aeneid…" she whispered, touching my cheek. "You'll always be my little baby, but you're almost a grown woman now. He'll want to talk about marriage."

Shock hit me. "I'm not ready for that!"

Her mouth frowned. "I know. We'll see how it goes."

Two hours later, and it wasn't going well. Not at all. The conversation had gotten rather heated.

"Aeneid doesn't need to go to court!" mother insisted. "Father, plenty of girls make fine matches without it."

"Not ladies," he grandfather growled. "Not any great matches. My granddaughter will come out and be presented to the court, where she will find a fine husband and carry on the line." His gray eyes flashed sharply under his white hair, combed immaculately. Rings flashed on his hands as he waved them back and forth to make his point.

"But I don't want to marry!" I objected. "I'm not even eighteen."

He scowled at me. "You, young lady, do not get a say."

"Why not?" I objected. "It's my future."

"You are not equipped to control your own fate as of yet," he said, "so more learned people shall do it for you."  
"So I can't control my own fate but I can marry?" I asked. "That makes no sense, grandfather." I was trying hard to hold onto my temper.

"Your husband will decide your fate," my grandfather said, getting testy.

"But, Father," my mother interjected. "Aeneid has plenty of time to come out. What is this rush for?"

"If no one knows of her, then she will get no offers, Eleanor. Then she will be a spinster and what shall you do then?" he demanded. "You've had her shut up here for all her life; no one has seen her face!"

Plenty of people have seen my face. The guardsmen I spar with, the stable boys whom I coax into teaching me about horses, father's old falconer, who lets me help him with the hawks, the servants… lots of people! And that's not even counting mother and grandfather and Murgatroyd. Why would I want to show my face to the world, anyway? It wasn't that remarkable.

"It's quite early to talk of spinsters, father," mother said. "And really…the court… it's no place for a sheltered child like Aeneid."

_I'm not a child,_ I thought, but I didn't say it. I had no desire to go to that court, because mother told me of the things that go on there –raucous parties, gaming, dueling (which I wouldn't mind much), smooth talking lords who entice unmarried ladies to their beds and leave them without honor (which I would mind very much, but no one would get the chance because I'd skewer him first), and who knows what else.

"She's been so sheltered because you haven't let her out!" Grandfather pounded the table. "My word is law in this family, and I say that Aeneid will come to the ball being held next week and be presented! Hang your protestations, Eleanor!" he growled at mother, who had opened her mouth to object.

"I shan't!" I exclaimed, jumping up from my place at the table. "You cannot make me go!"

"You silly, spoiled girl!" he yelled. "You will do what I say and that is final! If your mother had grown a backbone and raised you properly, or better yet, had not married that weak man, you would have turned out better. You are a willful and selfish, stubborn child!"

"And you are an old man who only cares about himself and his standing with the King and court, and that makes you a fool!" I shouted, and with that, an air of finality and heavy omen settled on the room.

Mother looked about to faint from my outburst, and my grandfather was so full of rage he could hardly speak for sputtering. I took that chance to run out of the room, my cheeks suddenly hot and my hands icy cold. How could I have said that, right to his face?

I dashed up the stairs to my room, flopping onto my bed and burying my face in my hands. I felt awful.

A body jumped up on my bed, and I rolled over to stare into Murgatroyd's eyes. "Oh, what did I do?" I moaned. "I didn't mean –"

_Yes, you did_, he said.

I stared at him, my eyes watery. _What are you talking about? Everything I said, it was like I just – _

_Like you just summed up his whole personhood in a sentence,_ Murgatroyd said seriously. _It's time to explain some things to you, Aeneid._

That didn't sound very good.


	2. Chapter 2

Murgatroyd took me to the library. It made sense, since Mother would never think to look for me here (she'd probably start with the mews), but I was still unsure why he was being so secretive. I lit a candle and looked around, only to see that he had disappeared. "Murgatroyd?" I called. No answer. I tried again. _Murgatroyd?_

_Right here,_ he said, coming around the side of a bookcase.

I blinked. It wasn't often that he switched to his human form, preferring his feline grace to 'clumsy two-legger feet'. His head of hair was still red with black roots, hanging in his gold eyes, and messy. He was only the size of a boy, about four feet tall, wearing nothing but leather trousers. His body was a boy's, kind of scrawny, with none of the definition or muscle tone of a man, but there was a wiry, sinewy strength that lay in his lean frame. He smiled at my surprise, baring his gleaning white teeth and elongated fangs.

_Stop being so mysterious and tell me what's going on,_ I said with my mind, hoping to persuade him to spill some of his secrets. He was so elusive sometimes.

He stared at me seriously, resting his elbows on the table of the library. I sat across from him. _I told you that you had a gift, _he said. _You can reach out and touch another's mind without any effort at all. I've taught you how to be polite, the proper way of entering a mind and all the ways to guard your own from another's attack. But you have another gift._

_What is it? _I asked.

_You can sum up a person's whole existence with a few words,_ Murgatroyd said. He blinked slowly. _You could come up with someone's true name._

I sat silently. _What?_

_I see we have much to speak about,_ he said, rolling his eyes. _There is an ancient language that at the beginning of time, everything used to speak. Its words are words of power. When you speak in this language, you cannot lie. _

"What?" I objected. "But that's –"

_Silently, _he growled.

I grumbled, _That's not possible._ When I wanted to, I lied very well. It wasn't a habit, though. Truth was something that had been ingrained in me since childhood. The lying probably came from the secret poker games with the stable boys when I was twelve.

_And yet it's true._ He smiled in a cat-like manner. _This language is the same that spell casters and dragon riders speak to use the magic inside them._

_The words are magic? _I asked excitedly.

_No, mice-for-braids,_ he said acidly. _Weren't you listening. The words shape the energy, so the magic, or gramarye, does what the spellcaster bids. _

_It still makes no sense. _

_Listen. Everyone has a name they use regularly. But they have another, which is only used rarely. This name, which sums up exactly who you are, when spoken in the ancient language, gives the user great power over the person. You can make them do anything because you have such a hold over them. Aeneid, you can find out people's true names._

My mouth fell open in shock. _How can I know that?_

_You have a way of seeing people as they truly are,_ he said. _Truth from liar, good from evil, kind from mean. You know your grandfather's true name. You spoke it, in a convoluted way. He rolled his eyes You always put too many words when there could be less. If you knew the ancient language, you could wield an unimaginable power._

I stared at him in wonder and fear. _But…I just did it by accident! I don't want this power!_

Murgatroyd looked at me gravely. _Gifts unused have a way of going wrong. If you don't learn to use this power, a worse fate could befall you. The course of power is shifting in Alagaesia. You need to be ready. Your wyrda may depend on it._

The word carried an alien tinge, foreign and rough. I shivered –with delight or apprehension, I did not know. _What does it mean?_ I asked.

_Fate._

I let out a long, slow breath. _Was that the ancient language? _

_Yes, slow one. _

I frowned at him. _I just was asking. What other words do you know?_

_The whole tongue. And I am going to teach it to you. _He smiled widely, a feral grin.

Oh dear. Murgatroyd's lessons were hard, painful, strenuous, confusing, or all of the above.

_We'll start with the word for memory –manin. Learn it._

I sighed and found a piece of parchment so I could copy all of it down, lest I forget.

* * *

"Oh, you're going to look beautiful, Miss," my mother's maid said as she finished pinning up my braids. I stared at my face in the mirror. I hadn't actually ever applied the term to myself before. Mother was beautiful –her long ash blond hair reached past her waist, and though some of it was beginning to turn gray, her head was still high and her eyes bright shades of blue.

I on the other hand just looked…strange. My hair had a natural wave when it wasn't in braids and pinned to the top of my head like it was now, and it was a red-gold color, which was very pleasing, I thought. My eyes were green, and lashes were long, but my skin was very pale, except for a smattering of freckles across my nose and cheeks. It was strange since I spent a lot of time outside; I just got freckles and sunburns, not tans. It was rather unfortunate, since my lips were dark pink. I looked like a dead thing, personally. But to everyone else, I was lovely. I didn't understand that. (Personally, I believed my only hope was to accumulate a vast amount of freckles so that they appear to be my actual skin color. Mother rolls her eyes every time I mention it, though.)

I was helped into my frothy dress of white and green silk, light and beautiful when I spun around and the fabric flew out, floating in the air. Mother assured me there would be beautiful creations of satin and brocade, with jewels encrusted all over them. I didn't care; I was going to this ball under duress. I wasn't out to outshine anyone.

Grandfather had gotten his way –again. I wasn't happy.

"My lady, we must go, time grows short," mother's maid said again. Her name was Sarah, and she was sweet and good. I liked her. I reluctantly grabbed my purse and fan, walking carefully to disguise the fact that I was wearing my beautiful leather boots instead of flimsy slippers. It was easy enough, considering that my skirt swept the floor. I just had to make sure that I didn't take large steps.

My cape was set about my shoulders, Mother joined me, also in her cape, and we entered the carriage. The driver gave a flick with the reigns, and we started off, rattling and clanking.

The ride was mostly silent; I was resigned to my fate (though not after long, convoluted arguments about it), and Mother was resigned to accompanying me (she wasn't any happier about it than I was). When we had gotten in the gates of the city and neared the palace, mother began to speak. "Now, Aeneid, listen closely. There will probably be some pomp and circumstance at the beginning. You'll be introduced, I will present you to some old acquaintances…if I still have any," she muttered. "Then they in turn will introduce you to some young people your age, and you'll be expected to make small talk, take some wine (though not a lot, dear; inebriation is not something to strive for in general, and not in this place in particular), etc." I could barely suppress a shudder.

"Then you may be asked to dance. The regular kind, dear, not swordplay," she said gently. "It is perfectly polite to accept, dear."  
"Do I have to?" I asked.

"Yes," Mother said, "unless the young man is particularly rude."

"I can only hope," I murmured.

"It's entirely possible in Galbatorix's court," Mother remarked. "But do not go out of your way to find such young men, Aeneid."

I grinned. "Don't worry, Mother, I won't be doing that."

"I certainly hope not," she muttered. "That reminds me: the King doesn't go to social functions often, thank fortune."

"Thank fortune," I echoed. That would be the worst possible thing for this evening.

* * *

"The Lady Eleanor Valeria Christina Moira Augusta Anastasia Genevieve Fior, and her daughter, the Lady Aeneid Antigone Aithne Angharad Arianwyn Mahret Maeve Fior!" the announcer called, stamping his staff.

Feeling unsafe without my cape for protection, I (very carefully, to keep my boots covered) lifted my skirts to go down the grand staircase behind my mother, at a respectable distance, of course. There was an extraordinary amount of people on the dance floor, and they all seemed to be staring at us. I kept my head up high, stealing quick looks now and then to make sure I didn't pitch forward and fall down the stairs. The whole imagined scenario made me quiver with embarrassment.

The décor was beautiful –tapestries covered the walls, crystal encrusted chandeliers hung from the ceiling. I was quite outshined by the women with jewels just dripping from their bodies. I wore pearl earrings of Mother's, a silver necklace with a delicate chain and an emerald on the end, and a ring that matched the necklace. There were real flowers in my braided and pinned hair, but I felt quite outshined. I was glad of the safe security of my boots.

Finally, we reached the bottom, and some eyes stopped watching us. Some gaudily bedecked lady soared up to mother and gushed, "Oh, my dear Eleanor, I haven't seen you in _ages_! And with a beautiful becoming daughter, I see! Oh my dear it's been so _long_!"

"Yes it has, hasn't it," Mother said, smiling politely. "May I present my daughter, Aeneid? Dear, this is Countess Lenora Karliss."

I curtsied and murmured something polite.

"My dear, she's the spitting image of you! Though her coloring is a bit different…" she trailed off and called to someone else. "Alexei! Victoria! Come here!" A girl and a young man peeled off of a crowd of laughing young people and came closer. "Dears, this is Aeneid Fior. My son and daughter, Alexei and Victoria." He bowed and she curtsied, and I did so in return. "She's new to court," the Countess said, "So take her along and make her feel welcome."

I cast a nervous glance at Mother, but she nodded encouragingly, so I had to go.

"Why have you never come to court before, Aeneid?" Victoria asked me as we walked toward the group of young people.

"Mother prefers less …people," I said, staring around.

"Well, you should come more often, no matter what your mother says," she replied. "It's fun!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: This story takes place either during Brisingr or afterwards. I haven't decided yet, and am rereading Brisingr to help figure it out. When I know, you'll know. Onward.  
**

One hour and thirty-seven minutes later, I still wasn't having 'fun.' Maybe we weren't agreeing on the right definition of 'fun.' That might be it. People were getting more and more unsteady on their feet from the amount of alcohol flowing; I took one sip of the spiced wine and gave it back to the server. Mead I didn't mind; wine was too strong, and ale disgusting. I wasn't asked to dance at all. On one hand, I didn't mind much, but on the other, I was a bit disappointed. After the first curious gazes and smiles, polite conversations and nods, I was ignored. I had lost sight of Mother, and I felt bored and miserable. I excused myself politely, and slipped off to find the necessary powder room. I didn't need to use it; I just needed to get away. In the powder room I made some pretense of fixing my pins in my hair and adjusting my skirts. I stared at my unhappy face in the mirror and tried to smile.

It didn't work.

I exited the powder room after a while only to run into some (drunken) young men in a dim side hallway. Actually, no, I shan't call them young men; they were sots. Goodness, there really were some horrible people at court.

I blocked out most of their comments, though some very bright red spots appeared on my cheeks. Then they really started getting nasty. I shall not sully my lips to repeat the words, but take it from me –they were horrible, derogatory terms that left me speechlessly mad. My fists clenched angrily –Murgatroyd always said my temper came from my reddish hair. I told him he must have quite a temper to match, since his fur is darker than mine. "Take it back, you drunken apes!" I demanded.

They (there were five of them) just laughed at me. The one who seemed to be the leader of the pack said more, quite offensive words to describe me, and then came at me quick, for what I will not think. Needless to say, I dodged rather well and stamped on his foot.

"You will apologize to me and my honor, or I will exact it from you," I warned. I knew how to duel. I was better than a couple of drunks –better than almost all of our guardsmen. I might not win, but I could certainly defend my honor. I would not just let them call me those offensive words without a fight.

"What are you going to do, girl?" he asked. "Fight me?" His companions laughed.

"Exactly," I said, stepping forward. They started to turn and stagger away, but I yelled, "I demand satisfaction!" I peeled off my glove and threw it on the ground.

That one single act, the call for a duel, seemed to sober them severely. "Well." The leader leered at me. "So you want a fight then, hey? For your precious honor."  
I raised my chin high, tempted, so sorely tempted, to enter his mind and wreck havoc therein. _Murgatroyd would have my hide, though. And it isn't honorable or right._

"Fine then. I name my champion! Murtagh Morzanson. Someone go and fetch him." A crony of his scampered off to find that person. "Whom do you name as your champion?" he asked me, smirking as though he knew some incredibly funny joke.

"I need no champion," I said calmly. "I shall defend myself."

Laughter erupted. "The lady will defend her honor for herself!" Bern said, cackling. "Oh, this is going to be_ good_."

The crony reappeared, trailing hesitantly behind a tall, angry-looking young man. "What do you think you're doing, Bern?" he asked. Dressed in black finery, a sword hung on his belt –a beautiful sword with a red stone in the pommel. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he looked displeased.

"Naming you as my champion. Didn't Gerick explain that?" Bern asked, smirking.

The man glared, and most of the drunken idiots quailed. "Don't engage me in your petty squabbles," the man hissed. I studied the young man –only about twenty, but with dark, burdened eyes. Handsome, though. More than these louts.

"You can't decline once you've been named," Bern snapped. "It's dueling rules. You know that as well as I. There are witnesses."

The glower sent his way was enough to make most men beg for mercy. I gulped, but hid the sudden fear. "You become very bold when drunk," he said in a low voice.

"And you become very bold when angry," Bern countered. "It's why we stay in our present states for the majority of the time."

Still angry, but now wanting to get the whole fight over and done with, the man said, "Fine." His gaze turned to me. "Who am I doing battle with?"

"She says she's going to defend herself!" someone called.

His eyes widened in surprise under his long black hair. "Lady, please name someone as your champion, or concede the fight," he asked me firmly.

"You ask me to acquiesce to the sully against my honor, sir?" I asked.

"Sword fighting is not something for a lady."

"That may be true for most, but I am not just any lady. Give me a sword, and then you will see for yourself," I said coldly. The man in front of me was undoubtedly a swordsman –I could see it in his walk, his stance –a good one, too. I probably wouldn't beat him, but I'd give him a good run for his money.  
"Here, have mine," one of the hooligans said, hiccupping, offering the blade to me. I took it and weighed it, making a pass.

"The balance is off," I said, handing it back. His mates erupted in laughter and mocking calls of 'I told you so!' echoed through the hall. I waited silently while they sent a servant to go get a sword from the armory. I had committed to this, and I would see it through. I spent time studying the opponent –how he walked, how he moved, which arm was dominant. He seemed completely bored and stood apart from the fools to the side.

"My Lady, your weapon," the servant said, bowing to my right.

"Thank you," I said, taking the sword and scabbard and belting it around my waist. I tucked my skirt up into it so I wouldn't trip over it. This subsequently revealed my comfortable, wonderful boots. Gasps all around. And for the first time today, I smiled, drawing my sword. "Are you ready?" I asked my opponent.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked me. The side hall was dim and secluded, so there wasn't any way I could see his face with reasonable certainty, but he looked…concerned. A strange change from the previous anger.  
I set my feet and raised my sword in answer. _Now remember,_ I told myself, _you must take the offensive. He's probably a lot stronger than you. You can't get stuck on defense or you'll never be able to keep up under the weight of his blows. Mind, now!_

He readied himself and then stood there. _What is he waiting for? _I wondered.

_Oh. He's being chivalrous and letting me attack first. Wonderful._

Without warning, I stepped forward and attacked. Our swords met, and I was reminded again what a fine weapon he had. I had an advantage to being light on my feet. Skirts twirling, I dodged, attacked, parried, all in rapid succession.

"Your form is very good," he said, sidestepping my thrust.

"Thank you," I said, frowning. "Is it common practice to make small talk while dueling? I thought that was only for boring dinner parties."

He laughed. He actually laughed! His smile was startling. "When the opponent is good with the sword, yes."

_Did he just compliment me?_ I wondered. He executed Leonato's offense with excellent precision. He was good –amazing; that maneuver was incredibly hard. I blocked just in time. "That was very good!" I exclaimed. "How did you learn to do Leonato's offense so well?" I was starting to like this conversing thing. Somehow it felt like it was sharpening my ability. I knew he could come on hard and strong and probably knock my sword from my hand within seconds, but this was more of a show of skill, not power. A bit like the 'dances' I used to have with my father.

"Ah, so the lady knows swordplay?" he asked.

"Of course I do! What do you think I'm doing?" I asked, and carried out Capulet's defense, as well as stepping on his instep, then pulling away sharply. He winced. Well, he shouldn't have doubted my abilities.

"That wasn't very ladylike," he said, and pulled a Marinetti on me, going straight for my throat.

I gasped and threw myself backwards, almost breaking my back as I forced my spine to bend unnaturally as his red blade flashed above. Snapping back into my defense position, I exclaimed, "Well, that wasn't very gentlemanly, sir!"

He laughed again, white teeth flashing, and to my great surprise, I laughed as well.

"What're you doing? Defeat her!" Bern yelled from the sidelines.

He ignored the antagonist. "How's your footwork?"

"Fine, thank you," I said, leaping over his sword swung at my legs.

"What lady learns to fight with a sword?" he asked curiously.

"The kind of lady I am –an extraordinary one!" I said, smiling grimly.

And then our swords wove a web of steel around each other so fast that it was almost a blur. We didn't have time to speak anymore. My hair was in danger of falling down. I was starting to slam against his guard, trying to goad him into making a mistake. And suddenly, I thought he had. He had stopped guarding his right side.

_No, that's too easy! It's a trap, that's what it is! _I thought parrying a hard strike near my ankle.

But it stayed open for several minutes. _Either he has become incredibly stupid, or he wants me to take it!_ I thought, and I wasn't sure whether to be glad or angry and insulted. My arm was starting to ache mightily. I took the bait and went for his side, getting under his guard, knocking his sword aside and flicking the tip of my borrowed blade to his throat. We both froze, breathing hard. After a few seconds, he bowed and said, "I yield in favor of the lady."

"What?" Bern squawked.

"She won," his champion said harshly. "A fair win. Apologize to the lady. Now."

Bern looked like he wanted to argue (loudly), but a stern (very scary) glare from the young man with black hair shut him up. "I apologize for impugning and sullying your honor and reputation, Lady."

"I accept your apology," I said, sheathing my sword.

"Good. Now, if you all will excuse me," the young man said, sheathing his own beautiful weapon and walking out of the palace and down into the gardens.

Oh no. He wasn't walking off just like that! "Wait!" I exclaimed, picking up my skirts and running after him, ignoring the calls from behind me. "Wait a minute!" I said, following him into the shrubbery.

"What?" he asked me as I came to a stop in front of a lily pond.

"You let me win!" I said. "You clearly had the superior skill and power to overtake me, but you deliberately let your guard down so that I could win! Why?" I demanded.

He stared at me with dark eyes. "Bern is a drunkard and an idiot. You were in the right; he should have to apologize to you," he said.

"Oh," I said, mollified and blinking from surprise. "Well…thank you." I clasped my hands together.

"You're welcome."

"Please!" I said, seeing he was about to walk off again. "May I know your name?" I had forgotten it.

"Murtagh, my lady," he said, casting a look over his shoulder.

"I'm not your lady; my name is Aeneid," I said. "Among others."

He turned fully, staring at me. "Aeneid. A girl who doesn't prefer titles, who fights in duels, who wears boots…" he trailed off, the edge of his mouth curling up.

"I don't go to parties much, either," I said, resting my left hand on my sword hilt. It was such a natural motion that I didn't notice until he glanced down. "Oh," I said, embarrassed. "I should probably give that back."

"They won't notice," Murtagh said.

"How do you know?" I asked, puzzled.

"I just do," he said. He started to walk away again and I followed him. There was something –something strange, something exciting, mysterious, enticing, and dangerous… "Why are you following me, Aeneid?" he demanded.

My name sounded strange in his mouth –a good strange. "There's something about you," I said, staring at his face. "What is it?" I tilted my head to the side. He sidestepped, and so did I. "You're obviously important," I whispered, watching his face. "An excellent swordsman –one of the best I've ever seen. It's certainly not improper if _you_ walk away from a party. You're honorable, and decent and just if you're willing to let me win a duel for my honor's sake. You aren't used to losing."

His face began to frown and stare at me. "What are you talking about? And you're wrong on half those points."

I ignored his commentary, though I inwardly wondered which points he meant. "What _are_ you?" I asked, not listening.

"Stop," he snapped.

I blinked, suddenly realizing what I was doing. I was trying to sum him up! "I beg your pardon," I said hastily, going rather white in the face (not too noticeable a chance since I was pale to begin with). "I –I go on about things sometimes. I'm sorry for being rude. I apologize for my forwardness and beg pardon." Now I was blushing and tripping over my tongue. Fabulous.

"You're the strangest girl I've ever met," he said bluntly, "and I've met quite a lot of girls."

"But I'm not just any girl," I said, my head snapping up to look him in the eye again. "I'm Aeneid. Among other things."

We stared at each other, sizing the other up as music from the grand ballroom twined its way around us. His eyes were a very nice shade of brown, but his jaw seemed perpetually set and clenched. Except when he smiled, which was quite nice. I thought he should do so more often. He broke the silence first. "Would you like to dance?" he asked suddenly.

"I –" I snapped my mouth shut, trying to think of what to say to this strange tangent. "I'm not as good…that is, I'm much better with a sword than in a ballroom."

"Nonsense," he said, offering me his arm. "Half of dancing is the footwork, and you've got that down already."

I laughed, and hesitantly took his arm as he led me through the shrubbery and back into the ballroom again. "Is there any reason for this kind offer, good sir?"

"Let's give those sots something to talk about," he whispered to me, grinning widely. There was a spark in his eyes, a wild, twinkling spark that said throw caution to the wind.

"You don't care much for propriety, do you?" I asked, putting my hand on his shoulder as a waltz began.

"I'm above propriety," he said, almost snapping as his eyes went dark.

"That must be nice," I said, stepping in time to the music. "No worries about offending anyone, no need to stand on ceremony…"

"It causes more problems than it solves," he muttered.

I nodded. "I can imagine." He led me around the floor, and I couldn't help but notice the stares we garnished. It couldn't be _me…_ so just who _was _this Murtagh?

"Can you?" he asked.

Keeping my skirts up with one hand, hanging onto him with the other, and stepping in time to the music made it hard to keep everything straight. "Can I –oh, yes. Yes, I think it must alienate some people, isolate you from them. You don't play by their rules so they aren't comfortable around you…" I looked up into his face again and studied it, noting the hardness around his jaw was back. "You aren't comfortable around them, either," I noted.

Spinning me around and back again, Murtagh asked, "You're very perceptive, aren't you, Aeneid?"

I felt a feather-light touch on my consciousness. Almost unconsciously, I erected my mental barrier –or rather, liar's house. On the outside it was filled with my trivial thoughts, loud and buzzing, distracting smoke and mirrors. Inside the chaos was my _real_ mind –hidden back behind a reflective smooth barrier. What was outside seemed to be inside as well; where did the barrier begin and end? It was one question I hoped no one would ever try to find out. I knew it had to be he, who brushed at my mind, but he did not intrude and I did not comment on it. _There's so much more to you, Murtagh, than first appears, _I thought. _Duelist, swordsman, honorable fighter, dancer, now mind walker… goodness gracious. _

"About people," I said. "Some, anyway. You're very direct," I noted.

"I don't like beating around the bush," Murtagh said. The tendril disappeared.

"Direct, blunt, opinionated, and confident," I said, smiling. "What a powder keg. Then could you answer me this?" He raised a brow. "Why is half the room staring at us?"

He glanced around at the stares, and then said, "Probably because we both still carry our swords. Or maybe they can see your boots." He smirked while I blushed.

"They're comfortable," I argued. "You try dancing all night in little slips of fabric that offer no protection whatsoever."

"I thought you didn't dance?"

"I didn't say that," I said. "And I wanted to be prepared."

"Prepared to duel?" he asked.

"No, to dance!" I exclaimed, before I saw that he was teasing. I bit my lip and tried not to smile, but it was too hard. "Honestly. Why are they staring at us?"

"Maybe they've never seen a pretty girl before."

"I doubt that," I said. "Plenty of women here are considered far more beautiful than I by a far greater amount of people. Though I thank you for the compliment," I whispered. _He called me pretty._

"They must be blind," he commented as the music came to a close.

He bowed, and I curtsied. Then I was literally swarmed by girls all twittering and whispering in my ears. I caught some of it –"Murtagh, so handsome –how'd you get him to dance with you when he won't dance with any of us? –Luckiest girl alive –_so_ jealous –" No one approached him, though. It was like there was a space cushion around him that everyone could see but me. Especially when the orchestra started back up and the whole crowd parted, the gibbering ninnies in skirts fell back, and he asked me to dance again.

"Now then," I said as we began to spin again. "Who are you, really?"

"Do you really want me to tell you?" he asked, face serious.

I studied his face for a moment, the dark eyes that seemed haunted right now and mouth set in a line. "No, I don't think so," I whispered abruptly. "I shall figure it out on my own. It'll be more of a –" I was going to say challenge but instead changed the word to "mystery, that way." I glanced over to my right and immediately found his face again; not wanting to meet the glares shot my way by the jealous females. "Though I would like to know just what I did to gain half the room's animosity."

He laughed, a barking, harsh sort of sound. "You're dancing with me."

"Are you considered quite the catch?" I queried.

"By some."

"So why are you dancing with me when you could have your choice of girls? And don't tell me I'm pretty," I warned him. (I inwardly marveled. We were speaking like we had been friends, or at least acquaintances, for quite some time.)

"I have to dance sometime; it's expected. And you're the most interesting woman in this room, Aeneid," he said. "Why would I dance with anyone else?"

I blushed and rolled my eyes. "Just because I know my way around a sword?"

"You're the only person in this room who doesn't know who I am," Murtagh said. "And because you aren't afraid of me."

Brushing a strand of hair back behind my ear, I said, "But why should I be afraid of you?"

He spun me out, twirled me around, and pulled me back close to him. "You'll just have to find out," Murtagh whispered.

**Please review and let me know what you think :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: I found the time line! Story begins after the right scene between Murtagh, Thorn, and Eragon and Saphira at the beginning of Brisingr, but before the end of the book. And my school is crazy, so just expect updates when they appear. I will try to keep it regular, however.  
**

Even with the boots, my feet still grew tired of dancing, though it was quite enjoyable. I could see why girls liked it so much. Whirling around a crowded room in the arms of a handsome stranger was rather fun. I indulged my childhood princess/knight in shining armor stories for a moment, and then banished them. This was better than a fairy tale.

Somehow, we had gotten out of the ballroom and were walking around in the beautiful gardens of the palace. He hadn't let go of my hand, and I didn't mind much.

"I didn't think it'd be like this," I whispered quietly, looking around at all the green plants and still pools.

"What did you expect?" he asked.

"Well," I said, glancing at him. "Uru'baen…it's sort of all black and twisty from the outside, as if it was charred. I guess I thought the inside would look the same too." I craned my neck back and stared at the palace. "It's quite pretty, actually."

"Depends on how you look at it," he muttered.

I frowned at the structure. It looked like part of the castle just …bulged out in a particular spot. "Do you know what that is?" I asked, pointing to it. "It looks singularly out of place."

After a quick glance, Murtagh said, "That's the dragon hold."

"The dragon hold!" I whispered in excitement. "So the King's black dragon lives there?"

"Shruikan, yes," he said. "And Thorn."

"Who?" I asked, turning to him.

"The King's Rider's dragon." He looked stiff.

"So it _is _true!" I exclaimed. "Another dragon did hatch! Oh, what color is it?"

_"He_ is red," Murtagh said.

"Red,_"_ I whispered quietly. "And his name is Thorn?" Murtagh nodded. "Oh, I bet he's beautiful." I sighed. "I always dreamed I could fly when I was younger." I chuckled. "Then I'd fall out of bed and wake up."

He smiled a bit. "Sounds like a very good dream."  
"What did you dream about?" I asked.

His eyes went very, very dark, and some terrible sadness shadowed his face. "I didn't dream of anything."

I licked my lips, not quite sure what to say. But I had to say something. "Well…it's not to late to start," I assured him. "No one ever said there had to be a cut off date for dreams."

"I guess not," he said, but he didn't look convinced.

Bushes rustled to my right, and I broke eye contact to catch sight of a pair of gold orbs staring at me. _Not now, not now! _I wanted to scream, but I didn't. He wouldn't come here, not to the very heart of Uru'baen, unless it was important. My gaze snapped back to Murtagh. "Oh… could you excuse me, for a moment?" I asked quickly. "I need to…attend to something. Just for a moment." I didn't stop to see what his face looked like. With that, I walked quickly off toward the werecat that just had to come at the most unsuitable time.

* * *

_I'm going to kill you,_ I said, shutting the stable door behind me. _Skin you up and leave you for the falcons. I was just having the best time-_

_What do you think you're doing?_ He yowled, swishing his tail unhappily. _You bloody stupid girl, you could have just ruined everything; do you know that? Your wyrda just changed dramatically in the past hour!_

_I just…just talked to a guy_, I said, shocked at the change in him. _What's the matter with that? _

_Is that all?_

_Well…we dueled. And then we talked. And then we danced. And then we talked some more…_

_You really don't know. _He stared at me incredulously, an expression I don't think I've ever seen on his human body, much less his cat persona. _Bloody stupid girl. That was the **King's Rider.**_

_No, he can't be. _I stared at him. _Are you jesting?_

_Do I _ever_ jest?_ He asked me.

A rider. A dragon rider. Murtagh. The elusiveness, the danger, the excitement, why I couldn't sum him up because there was so much _more _to him than a normal person… I swallowed in consternation

_You didn't try to touch his mind, did you? _Murgatroyd asked.

_No,_ I said, still trying to wrap my mind around this new and astonishing fact. (He tried to touch mine, but I wasn't going to tell the angry werecat that.)

_Well, maybe what I say is finally paying off. Go._

"Go?" I said, startled.

_Yes. Get on that horse. You've set off a chain of events that I can't predict, _he growled. _You've got to go now. And I can't tell you much, so don't ask. Everything rests on _you,_ Aeneid. That's why._

I got on the horse. Murgatroyd wasn't to be argued with in this mood. And for the first time that night, I was afraid.

I was afraid of _me._

_I didn't even get to say goodbye…_I thought regretfully, guiding the horse out of the stable.

_

* * *

_Murgatroyd distracted the gate guards to get me through; I don't know how he did it. I bent low on the horse's neck, riding astride and bareback, hoping not to be seen. Home was only a league away. I could make it, I could!

And I did. As the horse came to as stop, quivering and frothing from exhaustion, I fell off it and landed in a heap in the courtyard. Reaching out with my mind, I searched for Murgatroyd.

_Nearly there,_ he said. _Get dressed in riding gear and pack some saddlebags. You've got a long ride ahead of you. _

_Are you jesting?_

_I thought you already asked me that,_ he said, and genuine amusement came from the link.

I groaned and got up, sending the horse into the stable with a mental nudge.

* * *

My pretty green and white gown lay in a heap on my bed. Now I was decked out in leather trousers, my trusty boots, a white shirt, green vest with pockets, and a heavy waterproof riding cape. The pins were out of my hair, and the red-gold tresses were plaited all into one braid. The borrowed sword was strapped around my waist; I had forgotten to give it back.

I sighed, sitting in my chair, staring at the wall. It had started out a perfectly good night. The duel, while insulting at first, ended on a good note. I had fun dancing. Murtagh was…nice. What was the problem with him? Was it horrible he was a Rider of the king's? I mean, no one _likes _the King. Actually, everyone hates the King. But that doesn't mean Murtagh is guilty of the same despicable sins. I said he was honorable and just when trying to figure him out –wasn't that true of him?

_Come, Aeneid,_ Murgatroyd said.

I just caught sight of his gold eyes before he disappeared out my door. "Hey! Wait!" I said, dashing after him. He ran down the hall, and pelted after him, running lightly even though only Mother slept in this wing with me, and she was still at the party. _Murgatroyd, what about Mother?_ I asked.

_She'll be fine,_ he said. _Keep coming._

He was going down, down, down… there wasn't anywhere to go down here except the… wine cellar. _Murgatroyd! I made a promise to my father! _I snatched a candle and lit it.

_And you broke it telling me about it; remember? Pay attention Aeneid! This is the point!_

And just like that, I skidded to a stop in front of the hidden catch. _But I promised…_ I thought, torn. And then, _But Father would understand if it's as important as Murgatroyd says._ The werecat had never lied to me. I took a breath and pressed the lever to open the door.

Dust was everywhere. It made me sneeze as I brushed the grey stuff away from the lid of the large chest. Murgatroyd, disinclined to get his paws cobwebby, stayed outside. The hinges creaked ominously as I lifted the lid, revealing the long, thin box that held the beautiful sword. It was right on top. I looked over my shoulder at Murgatroyd.

_Take the sword, Aeneid,_ he said, eyes burning.

I let out a slow breath and opened the thing box carefully. As the lid opened, I once again was amazed at the lovely workmanship of the sword. It was too beautiful –like it shouldn't be touched. Hesitantly, I reached for the grip and wrapped my hand around it.

Then all hell broke loose in my head.

I screamed for all I was worth. There was something IN MY HEAD! **I** was always the one doing the invading, not the other way around! It was foreign, alien, scary, big and…talking.

Roaring, actually. She was angry. Hang on, how did I know it was a she?

_BECAUSE I'M TELL YOU, SILLY GIRL!_

Oh.

_Please, please…this hurts! _I managed to get out. The crushing, squeezing pressure abated somewhat. I discovered that I was kneeling on the stone floor, clutching the sword with my eyes squeezed shut. _Please…_I whispered. _What are you? I just picked up a sword!_

_I **am **the sword. My name is Wenneveria. Open your eyes, girl._

My eyes flew open and stared at the crystal gem set in the pommel of the sword –a whitish, smoky color that glowed with an imbedded light. A beautiful and frightening sight. _Madame, I do not understand._

_You do not understand because I have not imparted the information to you, young human. _The sword –Wenneveria –whatever, her voice was cool and solemn, carrying a tinge of hidden fire and snapping temper. _Learn patience, child._

_Yes, ma'am. My name is Aeneid, ma'am._

_Do not 'ma'am' me. I am not of you. I am an Eldunarí –a dragon's heart of hearts._

My mouth ran dry.

She continued, _I was once a dragon, flying on the wind, bound to my rider, forever free and strong. Now I am only my consciousness and memories bound in this Eldunarí. Ah, to taste the wind and fly free again! But no more._ A terrible sorrow reeked from her mind.

_I'm so sorry! _I whispered in our linked channel.

_I have been alone for nearly a hundred years, counting every second –until now. _

_Why now? What's so special about me? Why me?_

_You have a task to perform. Blood calls to blood. _Her voice grew stern. _As do I._ _All your questions will be answered in due time, but first, put me down and empty the chest into the bag on top._

I did as she said. Loss of contact with the sword left me feeling empty and alone. I grabbed a sling bag out of the chest and dug through what felt like a lot of old clothes. _What am I looking for? _I asked.

_You'll know when you find it,_ Murgatroyd said. His voice was familiar and comforting when compared with Wenneveria's.

_Thank you for being oh-so-helpful,_ I muttered, and then yelped, "Ow!" My fingers had jammed themselves on something not clothes-like. It was HEAVY. I tugged at the rectangular thing to get it up to the surface of the chest. Finally getting a look at it, I saw that it was another ornate box, like the bigger one, carved in the same style.

_It has a padlock,_ I said. _I don't have a key!_

_I do,_ Murgatroyd said.

_What?_ I exclaimed, turning around. _How can you have–_

A round key ring hung from his jaws, and on the iron ring was a single key. Dropping it at my feet, he rolled his eyes. _I'm a werecat, stupid. Just open it. _

I inserted the key into the lock and turned it slowly. The padlock snapped, I pulled it off, and opened the lid.

_Is this another dragon?_ I asked. For I had no idea what else it could be. It was…large, and silvery-seagreen. Oval like an egg, glowing like the stone/dragon/Wenneveria on the sword… I reached for it, but halted at Murgatroyd's harsh command. _What? _I asked. _Is it dangerous?_

_In a way,_ he said. _This is one of two remaining dragon eggs in all of Alagaesia, and the only free one. You mustn't touch it, Aeneid. To be a rider is a grand and noble destiny, but it is _not your_ destiny. _

_How do you know? _I asked. _I think I could do it!_ The beautiful egg was just so tempting…

_This isn't your path. Not now. You must take the egg to either the Varden or Du Weldenvarden, whichever is the safest route. _They need_ this egg. And you are its courier._

_How can I do that? _I asked, stumped by the task set for me. _I'm just…just me!_

_You have the sword. Follow her._

My gaze snapped to the sword –to Wenneveria. I gingerly reached for the hilt (again), bracing myself for the mind contact. _Hello, Aeneid,_ Wenneveria said. _Have you stopped having hysterics?_

_I think so… yes. Are you going to help me take the egg to…wherever it is we're going?_

_Yes._

_…I think I can do it, then, if you're with me._

A burst of great pleasure came from the sword. _Thank you, Aeneid. So. Let us be off!_

_Okay, _I said, hefting the sword.

* * *

"Shh, Blackie, shh," I whispered, calming the horse I had saddled. "It's just old Murgatroyd, don't be scared." The cat was prowling around in the shadows somewhere. Wenneveria was strapped to my side (borrowed sword hidden in the chest), and the egg was safely in a sling around my body. I cradled it carefully. Books found in the chest were stuffed into the saddlebags.

_Who are you calling old?_

_You, stupid!_ I said.

_Children, children,_ Wenneveria said. _I'm older than the lot of you. Shut it._

_Yes ma'am._

_I thought I told you to stop that._

_Yes…um. Yes._

_Good._

I mounted Blackie and took a deep breath. I had left a note for Mother (not saying what I was doing, but just that I was alright and not to worry, though I knew she would) and I had everything I needed. Also in the chest were old journals. Wenneveria said I'd need them, so I brought them along. Murgatroyd leapt up onto the saddle and dug his claws in.

_You need to gain a lot of ground tonight, _he said. _We're in for a wild ride. It's also going to rain._

I belted my waterproof cloak over my shoulder. _Could've mentioned that a bit earlier,_ I said.

He smirked cattily, and then burrowed himself under my cloak. His warm body was reassuring, but I knew he just didn't want to get wet. The large, hard egg was snug against my right side, a ballast for me.

_You are Aeneid, the last dragon egg courier and keeper of the Eldunarí Sword,_ Wenneveria said. _Ride hard. _

"Ya!" I yelled, spurring Blackie onward, riding into the night.

* * *

The door to the dark dragon hold slammed. Shruikan hissed angrily, but Murtagh ignored him. That was just the mad dragon's way. He hauled himself up to Thorn's 'nest', as the dragon had dubbed it, and climbed up his leg onto his spiked back.

_Your blood burns,_ Thorn noted. _Is it the girl?_

_She didn't come back!_ Murtagh yelled into their mental link. _She just disappeared. Why?_

_I am not a sage. I know nothing about females. _

Murtagh caught a glimpse of blue scales in Thorn's mind before he hid it from his rider. _You certainly think about them often enough,_ Murtagh grumbled irritably.

_So do you, as of late. She is comely, for a human, your fire-haired girl._

_She didn't come back, _Murtagh insisted. _And she's not mine._

_And you're blaming her for it._

Murtagh slid off Thorn's back and thumped down against his warm side, annoyed.

_Did you have a nice time?_ His red dragon asked him.

The silence stretched long in the darkness of the dragon hold at the top of the castle in Uru'baen. But finally, out of the silence, one word resonated. "Yes," Murtagh whispered, staring vacantly into the inky black. He had had a good time. Now he was back in the pit of darkness, and he hated it with a passion.

**Please review and let me know what you think :)**


	5. Chapter 5

As we rode off into the rainy darkness, Wenneveria told me her story, warning me not to interrupt.

_Many years ago, I hatched to a human rider. His name was Calder Fior. He was many times your great grandfather. My scales were the color of pearls –white with a hint of silver and blue. I was swifter than all others at the time, though smaller than most. But my teeth and talons were sharp, and I was fearsome in battle. _

_However, I was a foolish hatchling. Proud, too proud for my own good. I wanted badly to impress my Rider, whom I loved; I was afraid our bond would not withstand his attraction to a pretty maid. I disgorged my Eldunarí –my heart of hearts. It was a foolish decision. When I died, then, my consciousness entered it and I have remained thus –just a mind in a stone.  
But, before that. It was quite useful –I could keep contact with him even when we were not near, because he held my heart of hearts. The pretty maid and I made peace. She and I became friends… she did not want to take away my Rider's love for me. She only wanted to love him, too._

She was nearly whispering. _They became a pair bond. Her name was Aerin, your many times great grandmother. My Rider outlived her –Riders live far longer than any normal human. But then, soon, through battles, my Rider was slain and passed into the void. I would have died as well, except my mind was pulled into my Eldunarí. For a very long time, I wanted someone to smash me so I could follow him into the void. However, I had made a promise to him. I would watch over his hatchlings and guide them. And so I did. His grandson set me into this sword, and the family kept me a great, guarded secret. It was a good thing they did so, because when Galbatorix began his evil reign, I was hidden away and it was as if no one had ever learned of me at all. _

_I had a task –I hid the egg, protected it. I could protect my thoughts because for all intents and purposes, I _was_ the sword. It is what I am now. And I have waited for nearly a century for you, Aeneid. The time is right. The egg is needed. You will deliver it to the Varden._

We were going south, toward where the battles had been recently. _Why me, though? Why not Father, or his father, or someone else? _

_We were waiting for the right time, the right instance, and the right person. While good, they weren't quite the right type._

_And I am?_

_You have come, had you not? You are the last of your line, you are adventuring only on the word of me and the werecat, and you left home and comfort behind you. The others would not have done so, I think,_ Wenneveria said.

_How will _they_ believe me?_ I asked, speaking of the Varden. _You're right; I have only my word and the word of you and Murgatroyd. _

_I will give you words to say in the Ancient language that will confirm that you speak truth,_ Wenneveria told me. _Have you learned the Ancient language?_

_Murgatroyd started to teach me some words, _I admitted, pushing a damp strand of red-gold hair off of my face, _but that was only a week ago._

_Why?_

_He said it had to do with my gift,_ I said. _I can touch minds very easily, almost unconsciously if they're unguarded. And if I try… I can sum up a person. _

_You can come up with their True Name?_ Wenneveria asked, startled.

_That's what Murgatroyd said. I only have done it once, and that was to my grandfather –I've known him all my life. And it wasn't even in the Ancient Language._

_I shall think on this, _Wenneveria said. _But now we shall begin our lesson. Say this: Fricai onr eka eddyr._

I dutifully repeated it. _What does it mean?_

_'I am your friend'. Now, say 'Eka thora du ilumëo'. It means, "I speak the truth."_

I said it, and on the lesson went as Blackie traveled down the road, Murgatroyd behind me, and Wenneveria and the egg on either side of me.

* * *

You know, some things I knew just by learning them from others –Murgatroyd, Wenneveria, Mother, the stable boys, and the guardsmen. Others… I had no experience with. Never having ridden for a long period of time before, I had never gotten saddle sores. Or tried to relieve myself without a lavatory. Or cooked outside. On and on the list went. But I had a chance to learn them all during the days that followed. I learned to cook, care for the horse and my sword, make camp, do all manner of things that normal people probably did all the time.

I learned harder things too –in my opinion anyway. Murgatroyd and Wenneveria drilled me on the ancient language until my head wanted to explode. I memorized phrases and words, but I wasn't sure at all I could speak it if the situation demanded it. I read the old books I had found, too. It turned out they were journals, written by my ancestor. Written with black ink in small, fine script, he wrote detailed accounts of his days as a Rider, the strange customs of the elves, interesting facts about the dwarf festivals and celebrations, and oddities from 'The Broddring Kingdom", which Murgatroyd told me was the human country before the Riders fell and it became the Empire. (I felt stupid after that, but Wenneveria tempered his words with histories of her own, and I learned.) I found tall tales, myths, and songs –one song was a tune my mother sang to me as a child, and I felt much closer to my forefather after that. He drew pictures, too –maps, of Alagaesia, the huge forest to the north -Du Weldenvarden, Vroengard, the Beor Mountains, the desert… all of it! Several pages were of people or landscapes, as well as dragons of all colors and sizes.

I found a picture of Wenneveria. She was beautiful. It made me want to cry. She would never again fly, never taste the sun's rays on her scales, and never again feel anything at all.

_Do not be sad, hatchling._ Wenneveria's voice was gentle and quiet in my head. _I have had centuries to come to peace with my state and myself. Do not waste your tears._

_I'm not wasting my tears,_ I said. _Someone should shed some for you. I would have loved to see you fly. _I hesitantly touched the Eldunarí on the end of the sword, and it flared brightly in response.

Suddenly, I could feel her mind, all her thoughts and emotions –sorrow, and hurt, and loneliness. And gratitude. _I thank you, hatchling,_ she whispered, brushing my mind, and suddenly I could see her in my mind's eye –a beautiful, opalescent white dragon with clear blue eyes like the sky, blinking slowly at me. _It has been such a long time since… since I spoke with anyone, shared with anyone… thank you._

_You're welcome, _I said, giving comfort.

* * *

On the eighth day of my journey south, I sat under my cape as the rain pelted down miserably. We were in Silverwood Forest by Lake Tüdosten. Murgatroyd hissed when the droplets splashed his fur. I read the journals hunched over to keep them dry; thankfully my hood was quite large. Running my fingers over the old, old paper, I cautiously turned the pages. The colors were rather faded, but still beautiful.

My many times great-grandfather was a Rider. I have Rider's blood in my veins. It's there! I have greatness within me, and I am traveling with greatness –a werecat and a dragon's Eldunarí.

_Aeneid,_ Wenneveria said.

_Yes?_ I said, turning the pages.

_You're going to need that greatness,_ she said gravely. _Great danger approaches, one I fear you will have a hard time escaping._

I looked up from the book. _What is it?_

Murgatroyd hissed, hackles rising. _Evil._

A shiver ran down my spine as the pronouncement gave me pause. _How could they have found us? And who knows if they're really coming for me? Doesn't evil sometimes just pass by?_

_This evil has a purpose, and the purpose is you, _Murgatroyd said darkly.

_You must burn the journals, _Wenneveria commanded.

_I haven't finished reading them yet!_ I wailed, staring at the precious tomes, feeling their loss already. _And it's raining!_

_Better they do not fall into evil hands! _Murgatroyd said. _Gather wood!_

I stared up at the rainy black sky in panic and piled up all the wood I had gathered for later, feeling the hopelessness of my cause. More wood was demanded, and I grabbed soaked limbs from the trees all around, scattering them over the pile. My flint and tinder would not spark –the rain was still pouring. _I cannot do it! _

Wenneveria said, _Rip up the pages for tinder!_

I closed my eyes in apology, and then ripped the pages from their bindings, stuffing them under a big log, hoping that it would shield them from most of the rain. Frantically, I struck the flint, seeing sparks fizzle and die. Again and again I struck. "Brisingr, please!" I begged.

Finally one spark found the paper and held on. I left off striking and grabbed the rest of the journals. Suddenly, Wenneveria glowed as bright as a star at my hip, and white fire rose up from the wood, hotter than a forge, engulfing the pages and the journals in my hand. I screamed, a keening wail as the flames licked my skin.

Yanking my right hand from the blaze, I winced as tears leaked from my eyes at the pain. The skin was black and charred. Some of my fingers twitched and I bit back another scream as agony raced up my arm and puss and blood oozed out of the cracks in my skin. Now the blaze was normal colors for fire, eagerly licking at the pages that curled and turned black in the flames. _How did you do that?_ I whispered as pain clawed its way inside my head.

_The Eldunarí can use sporadic, undirected magic on occasion, _Wenneveria said, shocked. _I am sorry, Aeneid. I did not know what would happen. _

I took a deep breath, trying not to lose the contents of my stomach when I smelled my burnt flesh. _I forgive you. You did what you had to. What now?_

_The egg!_ The werecat said. _Ride for your life and your charge!_

_How can I?_ I asked. _With them so close? No, this fire is like a beacon. Whatever it is that is coming, it can't miss it in the rain._

_Aeneid,_ Wenneveria said. _You must protect it. It is _my_ egg. I will not see it in Galbatorix's hands._

_Her egg. _I stared at the sky, swaying on my feet. I used Wenneveria as a prop. _If I stay, I can distract whoever it is while the egg slips away. _I pulled the sling off my body and tied it onto Blackie's saddle, missing its familiar weight already.

Murgatroyd's fur rippled as a shudder passed through his body, and then his catlike outline became fuzzy. A second later, his naked boy form stood in its place. I blushed slightly and looked away as he dug his breeches out of my bags and tugged them on. He didn't say anything, but I got the faint sense he was impatient with my female notions of modesty.

_I'll keep my notions, thank you,_ I thought to myself as Murgatroyd leapt with his cat-like grace into Blackie's saddle.

_Follow Murgatroyd's guiding,_ I instructed the horse. _Follow. And run fast._

With a kick, the horse galloped into the darkness. _Be safe, stupid girl, _Murtatroyd called.

_And you, irritating werecat._ I bit my lip as the rain pattered down, the monumental fear of capture closed in, and my hand still pained me like no other.

_Thank you, Aeneid._ In Wenneveria's words I heard a mother's concern for her child.

_Wenneveria, what is coming? _I asked, trying to wrap my injured hand in something to protect it. I found a clean cloth and wrapped it securely, ignoring the pain that made me cry. _I don't understand; I thought I was the courier for the egg! Was Murgatroyd wrong?_

_He wasn't wrong, hatchling, _Wenneveria said. _And a dragon is coming. The dragon bonded to the King's Rider._

The King's Rider, Murtagh.

A roar split the night, coming from the sky.

_Time to run, _I said, grabbing Wenneveria with my left hand and running into the dark and the rain.

_You cannot outrun a dragon! _She chided.

Thud. Air pressure spiked and abated. My ears rang.

_No, but the trees are thick, and he cannot land where I am going. And the more time it takes catching me is more time for Murgatroyd, Blackie, and the egg._

_The Rider will have no problem. And magic will be at his disposal, _Wenneveria hissed. _You will not stand, hatchling!_

Thud. Again. At least the pain in my ears distracted me from the pain in my hand.

_Once I sensed an honor in him, _I said, staggering over fallen trees. _I hope he will give me a chance to fight him without magic. And my mind is guarded. _I had shielded my thoughts, letting trivial thoughts, old memories of no account, and all the pain from my arm outside my shield. Inside were all the things I needed to keep safe. Hopefully, he wouldn't be able to intrude into my mind because he wouldn't be able to find it. It had worked once; wouldn't it work again?

Thud.

A huge breeze came from behind me, along with a loud thump that shook the branches of the oaks around me and sent a vibration through the earth. They had landed. _It is a false hope, Aeneid! _Wenneveria insisted. _I want you to smash me._

_Smash you? _I asked, confused as I darted past a stand of trees. The night was dark, the moon only a sliver, casting little light. I could hear the sound of someone running after me now –the squish, squish of leaves was a dead giveaway. I tried my best to put on more speed. _What do you mean, Wenneveria?_

_If I fall into the wrong hands, the Rider and the King will try to bend me to their will. They will bind me and use my strength for their spells and enter my mind, prying it open like an oyster or a clam. Smash me, Aeneid! I will enter the void and be no more, and will foil their intentions._

_How can I do that? _I asked frantically. _I can't just kill you! Who will help me with you gone? And your egg! It needs its mother!_

_You must be strong, hatchling, _Wenneveria said with great solemnity.

_I –_

"Blöthr!" The cry came out of the night.

My limbs froze, and I couldn't move. I probably would have pitched forward if the spell –it must have been a spell –hadn't frozen me. Arms and legs couldn't move, but I could turn my head, and I could still speak to Wenneveria. _What do I do? _I begged, asking her.

_I could give you the words to free yourself, but you cannot use magic, hatchling,_ she said sadly, grim determination emanating from my sword. _I suppose you will have to depend on that 'honor' you saw in him. That or engage in a mind battle with him. _

_I'm sorry, _I whispered to her. 

_I forgive you, hatchling, _she murmured. And then she became very, very silent.

Cautious footsteps approached, just heard over the sound of the rain. _Please, _I begged inwardly, _still be that young man I met all those nights ago._

**Please review and let me know what you think :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: so, so very sorry for leaving you all hanging for so long. I apologize; I've been super busy. Please enjoy and tell me what you think! :)**

Wet leaves squished under unseen feet. The rain still pelted down, tracing rivulets down my cloak and dripping onto the forest floor. Lightning crackled in the night. My right hand burned as if the magic fire was still cooking it. I shivered inwardly, turning my head as far as the spell would allow over my shoulder. _Please,_ I begged. _Please._

I heard the whisper of metal as a sword left its sheath. Blood red metal entered my vision, creeped under my hood and pulled up on the stiff material. He spoke a word, and a red light popped out of nowhere, illuminating the both of us. My eyes smarted, and I blinked rapidly to clear them and see.

"So," he said in a low voice, "it is you."

He wore armor now, and his wicked red sword was gripped confidently in his hand. He was just as wet as I was, though. I didn't want to meet his eyes. They were angry and bitter. "I would appreciate it, sir, if you would remove your enchantment from my person," I said formally, even though there was a shake to my voice.

"No," he snapped. "Not before you explain yourself."

I glared at him. "I suppose it's routine for dragon riders to accost people in the middle of the night." The bravado helped counter my fear.

"Shut up," he said harshly. "Where is the egg?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I bluffed.

"Liar! Tell me," he hissed, raising his sword.

"Or what? You'll strike me down?" I asked, shocked. Was this really the same man I had met?

"No. I'll just rip your mind open. Or I'll take you back to Uru'baen and let Galbatorix pry the information from you and leave you a gibbering idiot." Murtagh tilted his head to the side. "Have you ever had that happen to you? You feel as if someone poured hot coals and nails into your skull, then shook it around. And you feel the sensation of someone sifting through your most private memories. Nothing is sacred anymore. Take my word for it," he whispered bitterly. His eyes were intense and dark.

If he was trying to scare me, he wasn't succeeding! Or…not that much. Maybe a little. Okay, a lot. "Fight me," I spat out, trying to cure the shaking in my bones.

"I can't hear you," he said mockingly.

"You will have to fight me before you capture me, Murtagh Morzansson!" I said.

His name had a curious effect on him. His jaw clenched and his eyes turned dark. "I don't have to do anything of the sort."

"But you will," I said, taking the gamble and betting on faith, praying I was right. "Because you're still the same man you were a week ago. You will engage me in a fair fight without the use of magic to determine my freedom."

He stared at me through the black hair in his eyes. Then he abruptly muttered something in the ancient language, and I pitched forward, landing on my hands and knees as the rain soaked my hair. My right elbow took the brunt of my fall for my injured hand.

I gripped Wenneveria tightly with my left hand and picked myself up. I had never actually dueled with my left hand, but it was all the chance I had. Time was ticking for the egg and Murgatroyd. Flexing my right, I almost yelped again at the spikes of pain up my arm. I raised my left hand in the ready position, feeling the hopelessness of it. _I must hold on,_ I told myself. _I have to._

My attack was clumsy and awkward. His parry was full of finesse. And so the unmatched battle went. He would deflect my attacks and wait for me to attack again, contempt growing on his face. I didn't blame him. The fight was pitifully easy. I couldn't parry anything using the wrong hand, I discovered, so I had to dodge all his attacks. It was terribly difficult for me even to execute a Ricotta or a Danheath, some of the easiest swordplay moves. _Blast it, why can't I fight right?_ I thought, staring to fight dirty as my frustration grew. I had the small satisfaction at seeing him wince when my foot connected with his leg, but it was short lived. With one fling of his sword, he batted Wenneveria aside and shoved me to the ground. "What are you doing?" he demanded, staring down at me. "That was horrible! What happened to the sword maiden I met in Uru'baen, or are you just an ordinary girl?" He made a grab for my hand to pull me up again –my right hand. His grip was strong, and I screamed, a harsh, pain-filled wail. Stars exploded across my eyes and darkness descended.

* * *

Murtagh stared at her pale face, unsure if she was really unconscious or not. Her wavy hair lay in wet trails around her head, and rain pattered on her skin. Her face twitched once or twice when cold droplets hit it, but other than that, she didn't move.

_What did you do?_ Thorn asked accusingly, peering through their mind link.

_Nothing!_ Murtagh snapped. _Just…_ He picked up her hand that he had grabbed, only belatedly realizing it had a bandage around it. Unwrapping it, he cursed. It was black and burnt, like a piece of meat that had been cooked too long. That was why she had thought so badly and fainted. He slid her sword back in her sheath and lifted her limp body into his arms. _Thorn, she's injured. _Murtagh headed back to the fire.

_Obviously, turnip head,_ his dragon said sarcastically. _She's unconscious._

Murtagh rolled his eyes. _Thanks for pointing that out. I meant her hand, obviously. _

His dragon stared inquisitively at the girl through their link. _Her hair is like fire,_ the dragon noted.

Murtagh looked at the red-gold tresses that spilled over his shoulder and over her face. _You've said that before, but it's not._

_Yes, it is,_ the red dragon insisted. _Fire is red and yellow and gold and orange and blue, and her hair is like strands of gold where the light shines and red where the shadows lie. How is she called?_

Murtagh stepped into the ring of firelight where his dragon waited and set the girl down. The rain had settled down into an annoying trickle. _Aeneid,_ Murtagh said, attempting to feel nothing.

He didn't succeed.

* * *

When I opened my eyes, all I saw was red. "Umph," I muttered. Was there something wrong with my eyes? Then the red receded somewhat. And there was some black in there, too…

Oh.

It was a great red eye.

"Hello," I said politely, feeling rather out of it. Not to mention claustrophobic. "Would you mind backing up…just a bit?" The eye blinked and then lifted out of my field of vision. I saw the dark blue of a sky that comes before dawn. _I'm flat on my back, _I realized. When I tried to get up, I also found I couldn't move, although there was weight at my hip. Wenneveria was in her scabbard. I sighed, exasperated and ashamed of my weak attempt to fight. Was I now a prisoner? Only one way to find out. "Murtagh, would you stop putting spells on me?" I exclaimed.

The dragon made harsh huffing sounds, which, after a start, I interpreted as laughter.

"Well, we know she's better," Murtagh muttered somewhere to my left. He muttered some more unfamiliar words in the ancient language and I could move. Instantly I rolled to my right and clambered to my feet in an unsteady fashion. The world spun around crazily. "Aeneid!" Murtagh grabbed me before I toppled over.

"Stop it," I said tiredly. I waited for the scenery to stop whirling and my arm to stop screaming.

"Fine then, I'll just let you fall over," Murtagh said, letting go. I swayed, not fully adjusted, and he grabbed me again. "Stubborn girl."

I laughed, fuzzy headed. I couldn't think right with this pain in my arm.

"Let me heal you," he said, sitting me down. I leaned against something hard and rough –scales.

"Oh, hello again," I said to the dragon. "Was that a command?" I asked.

He stared at me and frowned darkly. "If I _don't_ heal you, your hand will take ages to heal, if it doesn't get infected or worse."

"I'm so glad you're concerned," I snapped.

He glared at me, probably thinking I was a dimwitted female. I felt like one right now.

"Ask me nicely," I said, cradling my injured limb.

"Will you let me heal you?" Murtagh finally said, pursing his lips in impatience.

"Yes. And after we will duel again," I said firmly. More distraction for Murgatroyd, Blackie, and the egg, and a better chance for me to prove to myself that I had done all I could to prevent capture.

"I'll only win," he said.

"Your pride is far too big for your head," I snapped, though inwardly I despaired, knowing he was right. "I was certain that I would lose the battle for my honor, but I still fought because it was worth fighting for." I paused. "And then look what happened."  
He scowled at me, while Thorn made the same laughing noise. "Give me your hand," he said, not pushing it. Wise of him. I cautiously placed my burnt hand in his, wincing when my skin touched his. "What happened, exactly?" he asked.

"I burnt it," I said. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Exactly what happened," he insisted.

"The fire flared up, my hand got caught in the blaze, and," I gestured with my other hand toward the burnt black flesh. "Tada." Just thinking about it made it ache worse.

"That's all?"

I nodded.

"It was raining, Aeneid," Murtagh said, sharp eyed. "How did you get a fire started?"

"You don't need to know that to heal my hand, Murtagh," I said slowly.

We stared each other down for a while, but then he rolled his eyes. "Fine then. Waíse heill." The palm of his right hand glowed, and then I stared in abject fascination as the black crust around my hand sort of…peeled off. It was really raw and red and nasty, but then the puss oozed out and blood went back in the arteries and veins and muscle knitted itself back together. Clean, new skin, plus fingernails, grew over my hand. I closed and opened my first, staring in astonishment. "You healed my hand."

"Yep," he said, sitting back and digging into a bag for a water skin, which he gulped.

"You –you _healed_ my _hand_," I repeated, staring at him. Magic. I knew it could happen, I had read numerous accounts of it in the journals and heard rumors while at home, but to see it work right under my nose –and in such a startling way –it shocked me.

"You just said that," he noted, wiping the moisture away from his mouth with the back of his hand.

"No, but it's whole, like nothing ever happened to it!" I exclaimed. Elation made me laugh. "Whole and clean and new and wonderful –look, feel it!" I said, pressing my hand to his cheek, grinning ecstatically.

He stared at my hand on his face. My smile died down. I had gotten caught up in the moment, and for a second, I forgot that he was the enemy, and would capture me and try to learn everything he could about the egg, given the chance.

He placed his hand over my new skin. His hands had a lot of scars and calluses on it, from riding and swordplay, probably. My new skin was hypersensitive of them. "Yes," he replied quietly. "Yes, it's wonderful."

Was it my imagination, or did my heart just flip?

_No, I can't be feeling like this! _I pulled my hand away from his, smile gone. "Well," I said, standing up. "Let the fight commence, then."

He stood as well, drawing his bloody red sword. I pulled Wenneveria from her scabbard. "Is this the way it's going to be?" he asked bleakly.

"Will you let me go my way?" I asked.

"I can't do that, Aeneid."

"Then defend yourself," I said, lunging at him. It may have been slightly unfair to attack when he wasn't ready, but I needed every advantage I could get.

* * *

The great red dragon eyed the two-legger humans curiously, feeling the emotions coming from his rider and the smells coming off the female. His body was far advanced for his age, only a few months, and his mind was still a youngling's inside an adult body. However, dragons are, by definition, wise beings. So, when instinct and wisdom told him to sit and watch the fight, he did so. Humans were so funny, banging away at each other with sharpened metal twigs.

The female swung at his Rider with her sharp-metal-white-stick and his rider parried with his sharp-metal-red-stick that used to be his father's. Now that the fire-haired girl could use her correct hand, they were more evenly matched, but Thorn knew his rider had strength and stamina on his side. However, the female had quickness and speed on hers, plus desperation. And if Murtagh let the burning in his blood rule his head, he would not think as clearly.

The fight went on for several minutes, spanning the whole clearing as each tried to find the smallest weakness in the other's guard. The female-fire-hair-Aeneid was growing tired; she had not the endurance that it took to win battles longer than a few minutes. Hers were strength of skill, not power. She was weakening; as the earliest streaks of dawn light shone on the horizon, she was put on the defensive and stayed thus.

Thorn tilted his head, blinking his great red eyes. The white sword hummed as the metal blades clashed, the vibrations making the gem at the pommel shimmer and glow. His partner-for-life-Murtagh slammed Zar'roc down on the white sword, breaking the fire-hair-sword-maiden-Aeneid's guard, and flicked the tip of his sword up to her chest. Both combatants froze in the moment, their ribcages heaving as their lungs fought to take in more air. Then Murtagh tapped her breastbone. "Dead," he said. "I declare you my prisoner, to deal with as I see fit. Drop your sword."

Brave-heart-fire-hair-Aeneid dropped her white sword onto the wet leaves and moss of the clearing, her face a tight, stiff mask. The sword, oddly enough, still hummed to his dragon's ears. Thorn waited for the vibrations to cease from the pounding, but it did not. Nor did the gem stop glowing entirely. No, no, it wasn't the vibrations. It glowed on its own. The light came from within. Thorn stared at it, stared hard.

_STOP! _He howled, thrusting his head between the two humans as Murtagh began to reach for the fallen blade. They both backed away hastily, Murtagh from concern and Aeneid from apprehension.

_What're you doing?_ Murtagh asked, completely confused and on alert. The female was just as mystified.

The great red dragon turned his head toward the fire-haired girl and her fallen sword. Great sorrow filled his heart.

"What is it?" she asked, staring at him.

The gem on the sword pulsed one time in the early morning light. A sorrowful female voice filled his head –no, all of their heads. _Oh, my son –I did not want this for you._

Thorn whispered, stone still, _Mother?_

"He's your son?"The fire-hair-sword-bearer-Aeneid exclaimed, looking into the eyes of the ruby red dragon.

_Yes,_ Wenneveria said, great sorrow filling her voice. _My son. I did not want this life for you, öhiulonio.  
_

_Mother,_ Thorn whispered again, stretching out his nose and touching the gem, which really was no gem at all. _Mother._

**

* * *

**

_* öhiulonio =dear one. (I made it up -not a Paolini word)  
_

**Please review and let me know what you think :)**


	7. Chapter 7

I watched Thorn and Murtagh speak silently between them as the sun came up through the trees of Silverwood Forest. Murtagh was scowling, and a vein in his neck was throbbing with anger. Thorn's eyes were narrowed in a dragonish glare.

_I'm glad I'm not between them,_ I thought to myself. Sitting by the dying fire with a blanket underneath me, I inspected the dragon and the rider through the corner of my eye. My clothes were finally drying, and I wasn't too cold in the early dawn light. However, I had been prevented from touching a weapon by use of a spell. I was getting to hate magic used on me. Except for healing, of course. Healing was quite acceptable.

Some sort of signal was finally given, and Murtagh broke eye contact, stalking off into the forest out of my sight. Thorn followed him with his eyes, and then turned to me. I gulped reflexively.

_Hello, Aeneid,_ he said. His mind was just as alien and large and exotic as Wenneveria's, but it had less stuff in it. He was only a few months old, after all.

_Good morning,_ I said.

_Can… can I…speak with her?_ He asked, speaking of Wenneveria, who was placed on a stack of blankets, and his hesitancy reinforced just how young he really was.

_You don't have to ask me,_ I said. _If she wants to speak with you, by all means, speak. _I was still somewhat in shock at the way fate had twisted things –Thorn, son of Wenneveria, and the egg, also offspring of an unknown gender. As my stomach rumbled, I went to my packs in search for food. I hadn't eaten since the day before, and I was _hungry._ I pulled out some venison jerky and a hunk of bread and set myself to eating, keeping an eye on Thorn and Wenneveria. With Murtagh away, I had a better chance of escape, but I wasn't leaving Wenneveria, and I had no assurance how Thorn would act one way or the other. I was going to have to wait. I bit down wrong and bit my tongue. I winced and scowled.

I hated waiting.

* * *

Murtagh felt the boil of uncontainable rage building up inside of him as he stormed through Silverwood forest, walking aimlessly. His dragon's words kept resonating in his head: _We've been wrong about the hearts. Wrong about the previous Riders. Wrong about Galbatorix. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._

He gritted his teeth and gripped Zar'roc painfully, refusing to let the words affect him. The Rider _had_ to be weak and incapable. _They had to be,_ or else… the Forsworn had brought down the greatest institution in Alagaesia and raised up a mockery of it. The hearts just _had _to be broken, mindless energy pools, or else he and Thorn were guilty of enslavement. Galbatorix _had _to have a good system and plan in mind, or else the end would not justify the means and they really would be serving the most evil despotic tyrant to ever blot the face of Alagaesia. Just like his father had.

His _father._

He could recall all the words, the abuse that his father had rained down on him in drunken rages perfectly, despite being very young, younger than five. The scar on his back itched and ached, a constant reminder of his father and the sword in his hand, and the hate flared again, as well as the pain and the bitterness. He felt like a volcano, full of anger and hate, bubbling over.

Speaking of scars…or, _the lack_ thereof, his mind turned to his _brother,_ Eragon –just another reason for the anger to flare white-hot. Fate was cruel and unfair. He lived in fear and hate for most of his life while his brother enjoyed a family and a life in Carvahall. Through a cruel twist of fate, he and Eragon were on different sides of the battle now –deadlocked enemies. Murtagh _must_ be cursed. Saphira hatched for him and Brom, their father's murderer, taught him. Murtagh bore no animosity toward Brom, though. He was glad his father was dead. He only regretted not being able to kill the man himself.

_Murtagh,_ Thorn's voice asked inside his head._ Are you done being angry?_

The dark-haired young man took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to let the anger dissipate. _For the moment._

_Aeneid is looking increasingly tense._

Murtagh snarled. _Let her, then._ Obviously he wasn't done being angry.

_When are you coming back?_ His dragon asked, slightly lonely.

_When you stop talking foolishness about all we know._

_It's not foolishness. _

_Then I'm not coming back._

Thorn growled in his head. _Open your eyes and ears, rocks-for-brains,_ he snapped angrily. _Use the wits you were born with. Think of this: suppose your mother, whom you thought had passed on into the void, was really alive. Suppose she came to you, and spoke with you. What would she say?_

His mother. Selena. Consort of Morzan, the Black Hand, the woman who he had seen only rarely. He remembered little of those visits, but he cherished them above all else. It was the only time in his life where he had felt loved.

Murtagh could not respond.

Thorn answered for him. _She would be ashamed,_ he whispered, and Murtagh shuddered as Thorn brought to mind everything they had done under the rule of Galbatorix. _And so, my mother has come back from the dead and has spoken with me. What do you think of _that_?_

_It's no matter what I think; Galbatorix has made sure of that. _His heart constricted, trapped by the bands of stone wrapped around it. Murtagh turned around and walked back. _We are chained with our true names and cannot escape. We have no choice. Or don't you remember that?_

Thorn shuddered as the feeling came over him again –that knife cutting to the core of him, ripping him open and chaining his heart up, the heat of battle changing him from a reasoning being to an animal that was guided by instinct and bloodlust. _But we could change…?_ He asked hopefully.

_No,_ Murtagh said.

_Why won't you hope?_ Thorn asked, snapping his jaw. _I do not want to be like Shruikan._

Murtagh felt a small flash of pity, thinking of the mad dragon tied to the King by dark magic. _You won't,_ he said strongly. _But I've got to think of what to do now._ Thorn retreated from his mind, and Murtagh brooded over the problem Aeneid posed.

* * *

I had eaten all the food I had scrounged by the time Murtagh decided to come back. He was still pretty angry looking. "Well?" I asked, standing.

"You have two options," he said, getting right to the point. "Tell me where the egg is –"

"No," I immediately said, my mouth flattening out into a line. I braced for the second option.

"Or," he went on; "I haul you around Alagaesia until I find time to break into your mind."

"What, no taking me to Uru'baen and letting the King snap me like a toothpick?" I asked, surprised. My mouth had a tendency to blurt out words when I was taken aback.

I immediately regretted it. He shoved his face inches from mine and asked, "Would you prefer that?" in a low tone.

I swallowed my pride and said, "No."

"Good." He threw a leather bag at me. "Pack."

"What's stopping you from breaking into my mind now?" I snapped. I really needed to learn how to shut my mouth.

He turned back to me, and glared with dark eyes. "Contrary to what you may think, my lady, this was merely a side trip. I have other things to do besides chase you around the countryside."

"I'm not your lady. I'm Aeneid," I said. My words brought back memories of the dance, where we acted civil towards one another. I liked him then. If I was honest, I still did.

I took the pack warily and stuffed my things (few that they were now that the journals were gone; their loss pained me) into the pack. I reached for Wenneveria, but then I was frozen in place AGAIN. "Murtagh!" I said. "What about 'don't do that' do you not understand?"

He took the sword from below my frozen hand. "It's a self sustaining spell. It will freeze you whenever you reach for a weapon." I glared at him. "I warned you, he pointed out. The spell lifted as he strapped Wenneveria to Thorn's saddle. "Like it or not, you're my prisoner. You don't get a choice now." He ground out the fire with the heel of his boot. Wenneveria's absence at my side and in my mind was very sharp, even though she probably wouldn't speak to me in order to keep herself as safe as possible.

I stared at the great expanse of Thorn's back, stretching ruby red and very broad. "Are we traveling on dragon back?" I asked.

"No, I'm going to magically produce horses out of thin air," Murtagh snapped sarcastically. "Of course. It's perfectly safe."

"That's not what I'm worried about," I said, gazing at the saddle. "It's getting on that's my problem."

Murtagh rolled his eyes and brushed his black hair out of his eyes. Thorn lay down on the ground and stretched out a leg, and I wondered if I was supposed to walk on it. Was it respectful to walk on a dragon? And what if I slipped? The spikes on his back were very…pointy. "Well?" Murtagh asked.

"I still don't know how to –" he cut me off by grabbing me around my middle and lifting me up off the ground.

I started and started to struggle, but he said, "Hold still, idiot." He carried me up thorn's leg and onto his back, depositing me into the saddle.

"You didn't have to do that," I said, irritated and unsettled. "You could have just told me how."

"Time is of the essence," he said, grabbing my pack and strapping it on behind the saddle. He pulled himself up into Thorn's saddle with effortless ease, settling in front of me, and I caught the self-satisfied smirk on his face. "Show off," I muttered, my muddled emotions deciding on annoyance.

He then guided my legs into some fancy, complicated straps, converting the other set for his own legs. "Hold on tight," he said, and I felt Thorn's muscles bunch under us as the dragon stood and prepared to leap. I gasped and wrapped my arms around Murtagh, closing my eyes to prevent vertigo as Thorn launched himself into the air with a powerful down thrust of his wings.

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	8. Chapter 8

**AN: My apologies for the long wait in updates. I was busy and stressed and took a trip, and then fanfic glitched and wouldn't let me update. But I love all of you supportive, caring people. Thanks so much!  
**

My stomach lurched at the many flaps it took to get us high above the treetops. Then Thorn leveled out into a smooth glide on the air currents. I hesitantly pried my eyes open and looked around. From the side, all I saw was blue sky and clouds. Plus Thorn's red wing. I turned my head and sat up straight, straining to see the land stretch out to the horizon.

"Don't lean too far," Murtagh said, and I found I had to strain to hear him. "I don't want you falling off."

"Too much trouble to catch me?" I yelled into the wind.

His hand clamped over my arms wrapped around his torso. "Too much adrenaline to lose," he said.

What did he mean by that?

I stared at the landscape just whizzing by underneath us, and I almost couldn't believe we were actually flying. Then it hit me. We were flying!

I laughed out loud and tossed my arms out in the air, feeling the wind buffet them and make them very cold. "Uh oh," Murtagh said suddenly. "Hold on." I grabbed for his sword belt just as Thorn dove for the ground. I uttered a frightened squeak, but then we leveled out just in time. With a flick of his tail we were back up again. Thorn leaned right, and I gulped, wrapping my arms more securely around Murtagh. Then we rolled over. In mid air. The food in my stomach threatened to come back up, but we leveled back out and it settled.

"Now who's showing off," Murtagh muttered, the wind throwing his words back to me. I began to laugh hysterically against his back; somehow that just struck me as the most hilarious thing I had ever heard.

My mother had always told me as a little child that every cloud would have a silver lining if you just looked for it. I was a prisoner, if an unconventional one, being taken who-knows-where, and needed to protect my mind from invasion (which churned my stomach to think about someone invading my head), but…I was flying on a dragon. I was laughing like a maniac, and I might have imagined it, but it felt like Murtagh's chest moved in silent laughter as well.

Dreams do come true, sometimes.

* * *

Murtagh watched the landscape pass as Thorn flew north to Gil'ead. Aeneid had fallen asleep after a while –it was too hard to yell into the wind, and her mind was very well hidden. Murtagh made sure not to shift too much, since she was leaning against him while she slept. His back was warm from her body heat.

_Don't,_ Thorn told him.

_Don't what?_ Murtagh asked, only half paying attention.

_Don't blur the lines. She's a prisoner. That's not going to change._

_I know that,_ Murtagh said, irritated.

_You're making trouble for yourself,_ Thorn warned.

_I'm not the one conflicted over the oaths we've made and the fact that his mother is an Eldunarí,_ Murtagh snapped.

_No. You're the one conflicted over the prisoner you hold and the feelings trapped inside you,_ Thorn said darkly.

_The hearts are just tools!_ Murtagh said. _Who they were makes no difference. _Actually, that wasn't true –Murtagh was conflicted as well, because he knew Thorn would resist his mother being exploited, and Murtagh did not want to hurt his dragon-bonded partner.

_Don't cloud the issue!_ Thorn growled. _We aren't talking about me. We're talking about you._

Murtagh glared at the sky, grinding his teeth. _ No we're not._

_Yes. We are. You say Aeneid is a prisoner. We have taken prisoners before. You did not any treat of them like her._

_They weren't ladies, and I didn't know any of them,_ Murtagh insisted as Thorn swooped lower to catch a wind.

_Being acquainted for less than a day does not constitute 'knowing',_ Thorn said testily. _Neither does dancing. What are you going to_ do_ with her when we reach Gil'ead?_

_I haven't thought that far ahead yet._

_Yes, you have._

_Thorn!_ Murtagh yelled. He shoved the images behind a door in his mind. _#*& it…_

_Murtagh –most captors do not attempt to seduce their prisoners,_ Thorn said disapprovingly.

_I wasn't planning on doing anything like that!_ Murtagh growled. _Don't make assumptions when you know nothing about the matter._

Thorn said, _My point is, you don't know what you want. Or you do, and you don't know how to reconcile the reality with your diametrically opposed dreamings._

Murtagh opened his mouth to yell with his mind and voice, but Aeneid shifted behind him in her sleep, and he froze as her breath drifted across his neck.

_You see? _Thorn asked.

_I can make it work,_ Murtagh said.

_You can make her fall in love with you?_ His dragon asked. Murtagh wished he hadn't put it like that. _Do you wish to make her_ your_ own Black Hand?_ He asked scathingly.

Murtagh's throat closed, and he couldn't speak with his voice or his mind. The Black Hand –Selena, his mother, had been slavishly devoted to his father through some strange concept of love. He had used that love to maker her his secret weapon, and through that love had come abuse, pain, torture, and death, not just for her, but for the victims he taught her to hurt.

_No,_ Murtagh whispered. No, he could not do that to Aeneid. No matter how much… no matter how much something inside him wanted her.

_I do not think she would stand for it, anyway,_ Thorn said. _She is too strong for that._ Blinking and watching the sun spiral down toward the western horizon, he noted, _we need to camp_.

_Pick a likely spot,_ Murtagh said. _And we'll stop. _

* * *

The fire crackled in the darkness, and I watched the flames flicker as waves of heat rolled from them. The food was cooking and smelled wonderful, but my stomach was too tied in knots to eat. It was too unnerving with Murtagh so silent. I had an inkling that he and Thorn were having some involved conversation, because he didn't even seem to realize that he hadn't said more than two words after he woke me up and we landed on this patch of ground.

The lonely howl of a wolf echoed from far away, carrying the sepulchral tone over the wide plains. I turned to stare into the darkness and shivered.

If I was to cry to the moon from a high place, I would sound like that –so very alone. I needed to talk to _someone._ Taking a chance that Murtagh and Thorn were embroiled in their own conversation, I lowered the barriers around my mind and reached out to Wenneveria.

_Hatchling, it is not wise to speak thus,_ Wenneveria said._ The son of Morzan is close at hand._

_I need to talk to you,_ I insisted. _I don't know what to do._ I gulped. _I'm a prisoner, but I don't know what that entails… I don't know if I should try to escape, or just go along with it until I find a way to break the spell on me… please, I need to know what to do!_

_I cannot tell you, hatchling. You must find your path on your own now,_ Wenneveria said sadly.

I rubbed my hands over my face, tangling them in my wavy reddish-blond hair. _I don't know!_ I exclaimed. _My head says one thing, my heart says another…and I don't know which to choose, if either option._

_This one piece of advice I can offer you, hatchling, _Wenneveria said quietly. _Find where your head and heart agree._

_Then what do I do?_ I asked eagerly.

_You must discover that for yourself,_ she said gently. _And now I must go._

My head snapped up to see Murtagh staring at me, and I hastily retreated from Wenneveria's contact and threw up my barriers. "What?" I snapped loudly.

"You look about ready to pull your hair out," he noted, and while I was angry that he put it so bluntly, some part of me rejoiced to hear his voice for the first time in a long time.

"No thanks to you," I muttered, mulling over Wenneveria's advice. I hardly noticed him preparing the food, only snapping out of my thoughts when he set a plate beside me. I thanked him belatedly.

What did that mean, 'find where my heart and mind agree'? The heart utterly rebelled at leaving Wenneveria behind, betraying the egg and Murgatroyd, and staying a prisoner. The head insisted that there was no way to escape from a Rider equipped with magic and his very dangerous dragon. My head began to ache with the problem; it felt like I was banging my head against a stout oak tree!

Maybe that was my problem. Maybe I needed to try to get around the oak, instead of through it. So…I couldn't escape. Highly improbable, anyway. So…how else would I avoid the knowledge of the egg and everything else secret being ripped from me? _I certainly can't just ask nicely and say 'pretty please' and Murtagh and Thorn would just let Wenneveria and me waltz away from them, _I thought sarcastically.

…

Wait a minute. _You're over thinking this,_ I thought to myself.

I had the gift of discovering true names. If you find the true name of a person, you have power over them. If I could find Murtagh and Thorn's true names, I could get them to release me! Finding them would be the tough part, though.

_Might as well start now,_ I thought, and began to describe the red dragon and his rider to myself. This would be a tough task, though I made a start at the ball –I would have to describe every aspect of their personality, their history, and summarize it all up into a few words. Now I sincerely regretted not learning more of the ancient language. My stomach rumbled and I picked up the plate and began to eat absently. Then I stopped and blinked.

"This is good," I said, slightly surprised.

"Did you think I couldn't cook?" Murtagh asked.

"Um… no comment," I said, hoping the heat I felt on my face was just the fire.

Thorn pulled his lip back and made his laughing noise before backing up a few steps and launching himself in the air. The fire died down and then flared up as the air from his wings whooshed past.

"He's going to hunt," Murtagh said, by way of an explanation.

"Ah," I said, staring at my stew, thinking hard.

_Murtagh Morzansson is a loner, a dragon rider, a good cook and a reluctant villain, honorable_… I shook my head and tried again. _He is scary sometimes, tense, at times open and funny and then withdrawn and icy cold when you go somewhere that's off limits. He's been hurt…_

I shoved a bite of meat into my mouth and chewed. How did I know whether I was making this up or not? Were they true things, or merely wishful thinking on my part? Murtagh Morzansson…

Morzan the rider. Murtagh's father. _You're a bloody idiot, Aeneid. Are you blind? Why didn't you see this earlier?_ I wanted to hit myself over the head with Wenneveria, if I could touch her. "Murtagh," I asked quietly and abruptly. His head turned toward me. "What was your father like?"

I watched, partly scared as his eyes went very dark, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. "You don't want to know," he said in a low voice.

"I know he was Morzan," I said, trying to be brave and stiffen my spine. "Was he –"

"Key member of the Forsworn, brought down the dragon riders, Galbatorix's right hand man, now dead- for which I am forever thankful?" he snapped angrily. "Yes."

I knew most of that, but the tone and way he spit the words out so spitefully took me aback. "Did you know him?" I asked softly. "You must have been very young when he died."

"Four and a half," he muttered. "It was old enough."

I had found the source of the hurt, anyway. I whispered, "Did you hate him?" This was somehow the root of all things Murtagh.

He stared at me and laughed incredulously. "Hate is too light a word," he said bitterly.

"Why?" I thought it was a simple enough question, but it had a curious effect on him. His dark eyes met mine, and it was almost like I could see into his soul –it was broken.

"Fathers aren't supposed to throw their swords at their sons in a drunken rage," he said, and there was a whole world of pain in his voice. "They're not supposed to split their children open from shoulder to hip."

_That_ shocked me to my very bones. My father had loved me –he would never have harmed me. He didn't even like spanking me –that was my mother's responsibility. I could not fathom a father like that. Compassion welled up like a hidden spring of water and I began to understand, for the first time, just exactly why this young man was the way he was.

"You're right," I whispered. "They're not. This world is turned upside down. Fathers are supposed to love their children. Kings should take care of their people. Friends should stay faithful. They don't, but they should." There was some urge inside me that wanted to do something; he was broken and I wanted to fix it. But I stayed silent and he spoke no more. The only sound was the crackle and snap of the fire in the still night.

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	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Your support is just awesome, seriously. I love all of y'all's reviews. Enjoy a different point of view for a bit! ;D**

Angela the herbalist woke up to a very heavy werecat on her stomach. "Umph. You could just meow in my ear or something," she said. "Or tell me that you've found the rare blush-shine mooncapped mushroom. That would wake me up."

_Ha,_ Solumbum said. _Trust me. You want to get up for this._

Angela ran a hand through her curly hair. _Why is that?_

_Get up and you'll see,_ Solumbum said, twitching his tail and launching himself off her.

Angela groaned and threw her covers off, dressing in pants and a shirt before leaving her tent. She walked out into the still night and glanced around at the tents of the slumbering Varden. Using her skills as a witch (actually, just common sense), Angela hurried to the edge of the camp, near a grove of trees. _Well, Solumbum? _She asked, looking for him.

_Here,_ he replied. She found him in the shadows, in his boy form. The worn breeches covered the lower half of him, and the holly leaf was in his hair, as usual. But there was another boy beside him, with shockingly red hair.

"Well," Angela said. "Is this what you brought me to see?"

_Hardly,_ the strange boy said, grinning rakishly. _I'm sometimes called Murgatroyd. _His eyes rolled back to Solumbum. _His brother._

Angela's eyebrows lifted into her hairline. _Well, that's more information I've gotten from him in a long time._

_You talk too much,_ Solumbum said disgustedly to the redhead.

_And you speak too little,_ Murgatroyd countered good-naturedly. _Come here,_ he said, looking toward the trees. A horse stood nervously in the darkness. Angela guessed she might be getting old by not noticing it at first. _It's in the saddlebag. But don't touch it,_ he warned.

Angela peered at the nervous horse, the bulging saddlebag, and was about to pull open the flap.

But then it moved.

Her eyes bulged, and Murgatroyd and Solumbum smiled in a cat-like way. "Toads," she murmured, fascinated. It moved again. "_Lady _toads. Come here, my lovely." She carefully unhooked the back from the saddle. "Someone take this poor horse away before it goes mad, and find Saphira while you're at it." The bag moved restlessly. "I know, sweetheart, you want out. But you must wait for Saphira, or you'll imprint on the wrong person. Or step on a darkshorn thistle and get a bloodwort infection and your eyes will cross."

Angela smiled. She wished things like this would happen every day.

* * *

Saphira woke from her sleep and raised a horny brow at the werecat in her tent. _Well, cat-who-changes-shape,_ she said. _What?_

_You must come,_ Solumbum said, once again in his cat form. He blinked gold eyes at her and twitched his tail. _Come._

_Why? _Saphira asked, not wishing to stir.

_It's a surprise,_ he said laughingly, and vanished into the night.

Saphira stood and shook herself, making her scales scrape softly. She took care not to wake her partner-for-life-Eragon, because he needed to sleep badly. A skirmish with the king's soldiers had gone wrong, and she did not wish to stir him, since they were preparing for battle. It was hard for a dragon to creep, but she did it rather well, following the werecat to the stand of trees at the perimeter o the camp. The sentry now noticed the group, but tipped his cap when he saw Saphira and left them alone.

She blinked at the witch and asked, _What is it, Angela?_

"A problem,"the witch replied. "With no easy answers. Prying words out of a werecat is like trying to take honey from a bear. They fight you all the way."

Both werecats showed feral grins. Saphira's blue eyes inspected the redheaded boy and the black and yellow cat. _I dislike mysteries, _she said, in a manner that suggested dissatisfaction with the whole situation. She used a long blue claw to rip the leather bag open and snorted in surprise as a small ball of…something…rolled into the moonlight. A cloud had just moved away from the lunar orb, and they could all see clearly.

The great blue dragon stared into the eyes of a very small dragon. Its sea-green eyes had a silver tint, and it –_she_ –stared up at Saphira with abject fascination. "Chriirrp?" it asked in a trilling voice, flapping paper-thin wings.

_Skies above, _Saphira thought.

_No one else can care for it,_ the redheaded boy said. _If anyone else touches it, it will imprint. Only you, and Angela, for she is wily enough to take precaution, and just honest enough with the ways of dragons to withhold her touch. _

Saphira tilted her head at the small dragonette that flapped its paper-thin wings hesitantly. _I don't…know how to be a mother, _she thought. _I don't know how. I can't do this. I –_

"Saphira," Angela said. "Stop your fretting. Trust that great head of yours. It knows what to do. Babies are mostly the same; just don't let it wander into a patch of blazing fire-flowers, and you'll be fine."

Saphira blinked at the smirking witch. _I am beginning to understand why Eragon finds you so exasperating,_ she said. _But thank you. I am glad you will help me._ Her scales rustled as the mention of her partner-in-mind-and-heart-Eragon brought her full circle. _I must tell Eragon and Nasuada,_ she said.

_Of course,_ the redheaded boy said. _But no one else. We have to protect it until its rider is rescued._

Saphira was intrigued by the tale of this missing rider, but felt it important to say, _she. The dragonette is a she._

"Mtthhhirrmmmrr," the female dragonette said contentedly, sidling up alongside Saphira and rubbing herself along her side.

Saphira snatched the dragonette up by the skin of the neck that had not yet developed scales, as a mother cat carries her kitten. _Come along,_ she said to the group as she toted the tiny dragonette back to camp.

* * *

I woke up with one side of my body cold and the other hot. I had curled up in my bedroll beside Thorn the night before –he was warm and toasty. But the fire had died down on my left and the chilly air had woken me. I raised my head and looked through the low-lying fog for Murtagh.

His bedroll was empty. Thorn slumbered on, doing his strange, wheezing snore that Murtagh had said was a by-product of his accelerated growth. I caught sight of Wenneveria sticking up from the stack of packs. In the still morning the only sounds were the whisper of the wind through the plain grass and the gurgle of the nearby stream, which gave me an idea. I disentangled myself from my blankets, but then froze, knee deep in fog.

_Well, why is it so surprising? _I asked myself after a second or two. _He's doing what you wanted to do, obviously. He's washing._ I hadn't been able to separate the sound of the current and splashing. Since he was bare to the waist and I was starting to blush, I began to turn away, but then I noticed the terribly white, long ropy scar from shoulder to hip across his tanned, muscled back. It was a very old scar… from a sword, perhaps?

I bit my lip and swallowed, feeling very disillusioned. How could a father do that to his _child?_

_And so,_ I thought, _the wounded child grew up into an angry and scarred young man that no one cared about. He never got to dream. He was abandoned, hurt, and left without hope. _

_He doesn't know how to love because no one has ever shown him how._

By the time he came back to the fire, I had coaxed the dying embers back into a flame, and I didn't mention that I had seen him at the stream. The silence was quiet, but it was comfortable, and it didn't feel empty anymore.

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	10. Chapter 10

Gil'ead is a hungry city for many reasons.

It is a military fortress, stern and imposing and stony on the plains, rising up to halt the flood of elves on the march from the great forest up north. It (apparently) has a very large prison that men go into and never come out of again.

It is full of ordinary people caught in the conflict because they have no means to leave. The poor and destitute beg on every corner, accepting or stealing whatever sustenance come their way.

It is a corrupt city. The military turns a blind eye to whatever they do not care about or do not wish to deal with. Crime flourishes among every strata of society.

_Can cities have true names?_

I wondered that as Thorn circled above the dark city, preparing to descend. If so, then this city's name would be _Uvlad letthpre'yir_ –the devouring city.

An apt name, because it's about to devour me.

Thorn dropped sharply, coming in for a landing. My arms tightened around Murtagh, and my stomach dropped. I couldn't help thinking of that dark prison that swallows men whole. With a huge gust of wind, scattering dust, sticks, leaves, trash, and people, we landed in a round courtyard made of black stone. Soldiers stationed all around gave us goggle-eyed stares, but did not come forward. Dragons weren't really things to mess with, after all. Murtagh hopped effortlessly off Thorn (and managed to look good while doing it). I pursed my lips, tried not to think about my unwashed hair and body, and scooted carefully down Thorn's front leg. A muttered word from Murtagh, and a slim cord slithered from a saddlebag and bound my hands in front of me. I gave him a dark look but didn't say anything; cords were better than shackles, and I would be getting those soon enough.

A tall man in a red robe started down the long flight of stairs towards us at a slow pace. I wasn't sure whether he was trying to be imposing, or if he didn't want to trip over his hem, or if he was wary of Thorn. I suspected all three. Murtagh went over to him and acknowledged the man's bow. The important looking man spoke for a moment or two, and then without warning, Thorn took off. I shut my eyes against the dust raised by his wings, and then froze, feeling vulnerable in the middle of the courtyard without a dragon by my side.

Murtagh and the tall man made no notice of me, but I began to feel eyes from the darker corners of the courtyard. The disquieting thing was, the eyes belonged to soldiers. And soldiers probably had keys to the dungeons.

I began to feel afraid. _Murtagh, get your bloody self over here,_ I thought, feeling nearly desperate.

The tall man glanced away from Murtagh to make a flapping hand gesture, the sort that said, _run along and sweep this problem under the rug. _The soldiers were moving.

"What is this?" a soldier asked, smiling. "A Rider's prisoner. And a wench at that."

"What makes her so special?" another asked, coming up from behind me.

"I can imagine," a third said. I was being surrounded.

"Get thee gone, blackguards," I hissed, using the high language of the aristocracy in a last-ditch effort to scare them off. "Knaves do not speak to Ladies."

"Oh, so she's a lady," the first said. He seemed to be a rank above the others, maybe a lieutenant. His eyes were dark and lecherous, promising evil. Bile churned in my stomach.

"A lady? In breeches?" one asked, and I remembered exactly what I was wearing –hardly proper attire.

"He must like them wild."

"Think he'll share?"

"She goes to prison," the Lieutenant said, noting my bonds. By now, they were only a foot away, and I was frozen to the spot with no expression on my face. I was abandoned, and I was going to what felt like death. "He doesn't want her anymore." I steeled myself as he grabbed a lock of my hair. "Gorgeous," he muttered. "If you play nice, I promise not to put you down in the dark."

My eyes betrayed my thoughts –I'd like to murder him. It occurred to me to try to break into his mind and control his thoughts –something I'd never ordinarily do. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

My spearhead hit a wall, and it wasn't a wall of his making. _Their sorcerer must have put walls around the soldiers' minds,_ I thought angrily. My last hope was gone. "Do. Not. Touch. Me," I said with as much venom as I could force into my voice. If looks could kill, he would be rapidly cooling six feet under. I wasn't going without a struggle.

"I don't answer to you," he growled, and roughly grabbed my arm to start the process of dragging me to my doom.

"But you _do_ answer to _me_," Murtagh said, in a voice that I had never heard before. It was very, very furious. All the soldiers froze, and it took me a moment to realize that it was due to magic. "And I say that you unhand the lady." He pulled me out of the frozen lieutenant's grasp. I stared at him, memorizing his face, unable to process what was happening.

"I thought –I was being sent to prison," I whispered.

He turned his black gaze onto me, and the anger turned into incredulity. "Do you really think that I would leave you at the mercy of these…" he searched for a word that would describe the soldiers, and couldn't find one strong enough to suit him. "Oh, Aeneid." Suddenly his arms surrounded me and pulled me to his warm chest. My sharp intake of breath gave me a whiff of his unique smell –smoky, with the tang of metal and dragon thrown in. I relaxed into his arms and let my head rest on his chest –if my hands had been free, I would have hugged him back. I closed my eyes –and _listened._

_Aeneid-  
–almost lost you-  
-couldn't bear it-  
-I've got you-  
._

I had a gift. I could enter minds with ease. I could see how people really are, inside. I could _understand_.

His guard must have slipped –just for a moment. But a moment was all I needed to hear the truth –and to see –and to _understand._

_Murtagh _loves_ me, even if he might not know it yet._

And I wasn't sure what to do with that.

* * *

This room was very posh, even though I was accustomed to large manors and opulence. I suppose Dragon Riders got the very best. I sat in a chair and watched the fire flicker as Murtagh explained to the man in the red robe (he was at the door of the room, and apparently he was the Governor of Gil'ead) that I was _his_ prisoner, and he would contain me and supervise me as he saw fit. There were also a few veiled warnings about what would happened with anyone who tried to mess with me. Finally, he shut the door and came over to me.

"They'll be bringing food soon," he said.

I nodded.

"Need anything?" he asked.

"Why are we here?" I asked, letting my red-gold hair veil my face from sight.

Silence. Then, "The Elves are marching on Gil'ead. They're preparing for war."

"You're going to fight?" I asked, and my voice cracked.

"Yes," he said.

"_Why?"_ I asked heatedly. "What did the elves ever do to you? For that matter, what has the _King_ ever done for you?"

"I have _no choice,"_ Murtagh hissed, and his voice was suddenly hard.

"There is_ always_ a choice," I said, turning to look him straight in the face.

"No," he said. "Not for Thorn and me."

I lifted my chin, steeling myself, making sure it didn't wobble. "Alright then. _Why?"_

"He knows our names."

"What?"

"Galbatorix. He knows our true names. We have to do what he commands. We're more or less slaves. We can't resist." His voice faded into a whisper.

In a flash I was on my feet and in front of him. "Yes, you can!" I said. "Don't you see? Don't you see if you just… if you just _let_ yourself…"

His dark eyes hardened. "I know what you're going to say. It's impossible."

"No, it's not!" I shouted. "Listen to me!" I took a deep breath. "You're a slave because he knows your name, your true name, the name that sums up just exactly what and who you are in the ancient language. So _change _it! Be some _other name_!" I trailed off, looking desperately at him. "So change it."

"You make it sound so easy," he said, laughing hollowly, avoiding my eyes.

"But it is," I whispered.

"How can you know that?" he demanded.

I stared at him, the man that I –that I – oh, with his dark hair and pained eyes that looked into me, captivating me from the moment I met him. I knew his brokenness; I knew his secrets; I knew… I wrapped my arms around his neck and whispered his name quietly into his ear. "Don't you see it now?" I asked. It would be so easy…if only he would realize…

He stared at me with disbelief written all over his face. "Aeneid…" he whispered. Then he backed away from me.

He backed away.

I reached out, but he was gone.

And before I could stop myself, I was crying.

* * *

He was nearly running through the hallways toward the temporary dragon hold where Thorn was. His brain wasn't computing. _She knows my name; she knows my name…_ fear gripped his heart.

Thorn picked up on his tension as soon as he entered the room. _What is it?_ He asked.

_Aeneid knows my true name,_ Murtagh said, placing a hand on his dragon's massive neck for support. _She can make me do whatever she wants –to free her- I'll be caught between her and Galbatorix in a massive tug-of-war, and Galbatorix will win –he always wins –and he'll kill her–_

_Murtagh,_ Thorn said firmly and loudly.

Murtagh blinked and stared into his dragon's great red eye.

_Do you really think that that is the sort of person Aeneid is?_

Murtagh said, _that's what any person would do– _

A flash of memory whizzed past his eyes: Aeneid laughing as her sword spun in her hand, Aeneid staring him straight in the eyes when everyone else looked away… "_But I'm not just any girl. I'm Aeneid." _

Thorn gazed at him evenly. _She's not like most people._

Murtagh stared vacantly at the wall, feeling all the protestations come down on him, urging him to disregard this… but he couldn't. Because it was Aeneid. Beautiful, wonderful, spunky, determined, opinionated, fiery, honorable, good, _Aeneid_ –and that made all the difference in the world.

But he had left. He had walked out. How could he face her? _Can I stay here?_ He asked Thorn._ For tonight? I don't know what to do just yet._

_Of course,_ Thorn said.

**Reviews are wonderful things. :)**


	11. Chapter 11

I had stayed in my chair in front of the fire all night after crying myself to sleep. I didn't know where Murtagh had put Wenneveria, so I didn't even have her comfort, just myself and the replay of the night's events. _Why did he go away?_ I asked myself over and over again. I fell asleep wondering.

A soft clatter woke me. I started awake in my chair and blinked rapidly. It was the time before sunrise when the horizon looked gray. Murtagh was there, holding armor in both hands.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"So this is it?" I asked, looking at the armor to avoid his face. "The war."

"The elves are only a few miles away," Murtagh said. "I've got to go."

"Of course you do," I said, a bit bitterly.

He didn't move.

"Well?" I asked, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Go on, then, if you're going."

"You won't do it," he said, and wonder clouded his tone.

"Do what?" I asked, caught off guard.

"Order me to stay," he said. "You could. You know my true name."

"I believe you should have a choice," I whispered.

"That's what you're about, isn't it?" he asked, putting the armor down. "Choices, changing."

He walked over to me, and I didn't move. _Come on, please…_ I begged inwardly. _Why can't you see how easy it could be?_

"I'll come back," he said. "Don't worry."

That wasn't what I wanted to hear.

"Aeneid…" he whispered, running a finger along my jaw, which in turn sent a shiver down my spine. Without warning, he inclined his head and captured my lips in a sweet, soft kiss. My eyelids fluttered closed by themselves and I sighed at just how beautiful this was.

It was over sooner that I would have liked. Murtagh said. "I promise I'll come back," picked up his armor, and walked out the door.

My fingers touched my lips as my eyes followed him. It hadn't been what I was expecting, but I hung onto the promise because it was better than nothing. And I couldn't imagine _not_ kissing Murtagh again.

* * *

Thorn was silent as Murtagh saddled him and bound on his armor. There would be blood, and fire, and death, and they would be the cause.

He did not like what happened to them when they fought.

_How long must we go on like this? _Thorn asked.

_As long as we must,_ Murtagh said.

_Forever, you mean,_ Thorn said dismally.

Murtagh stilled for a moment, but then resumed his preparations. The two-legger-elves were nearly to the city. They could travel much faster than these two-legger-humans. The army had underestimated them.

The last buckle was done, the last piece of mettle strapped on. Murtagh laid a hand on Thorn's red neck and said, _shall we fly, friend?_

_Yes,_ Thorn said. But he was not happy.

* * *

Someone knocked at the door, and for a second hope leaped in me that maybe it was Murtagh. But I soon squashed it. "Who is it?" I asked.

"My name's Hannah, milady," a girl's voice said.

"Come in," I said, a little confused.

The large door creaked open to reveal a maid with dark hair in a bun at the nape of her neck and dove-gray eyes. "I'm to ask, is there anything milady requires?" she said, curtseying.

I shook my head slowly. "Not really. A bath would be nice, though," I said.

"I can draw you a bath," the girl offered. "Would you like warm or cool water?"

"That would be wonderful," I said fervently. "Cool is perfectly fine."

She smiled shyly. "I'll be right back." She closed the door silently.

I ran a hand through my hair and winced. Yes, a bath would be marvelous.

It wasn't long until she was back with a tub and some other maids that toted water up the stairs. They poured the water in and left, but Hannah stayed. "Do you need assistance?" she asked, setting up a bathing screen.

"No, thank you," I said.

"I can find you some clean clothes, if you like," she offered helpfully.

"Really?" I asked. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, milady," she said curtseying again as she disappeared out the door. I wondered at her eagerness to help as I stripped and got into the tub of water. After scrubbing myself all over with soap, I attacked my hair and got rid of all the oil and dirt from the days on the road. I only got out when I was squeaky clean, and wrapped a towel around myself. Peeking around the screen, I saw that there was Hannah, holding a simple brown dress.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "This was all I could find –"

"No, it's fine," I told her. "I don't need any help getting dressed." She handed it to me and I quickly dressed behind the screen. It fit well enough, though it was a bit short in the sleeves –my wrists stuck out –but that was all right.

"Hannah, why're you doing all of this for me?" I asked as I came out behind the screen.

She became very still for a moment and then asked in a rush, "Is it true, milady, that the elves are nearly upon us?"  
"Yes," I said, a little confused.

"Do they really steal children?" She asked, frightened. "And look like animals, and all the horrible things the soldiers say?"

"I don't think so," I said, slightly shocked. From my ancestor's journals, elves were for the most part, peaceful, unless something roused them. They were odd and different, but not… monsters. "I've never heard them described that way."

She seemed to relax a little, but not much.

"Is there something else wrong?" I asked.

"No, no, of course not, milady," she said hurriedly. "Will… there be anything else?"

I correctly translated this as _Yes, very wrong; please let me stay._ I tilted my head to the side. "Am I correct in assuming I'm not allowed to leave?"

She hesitated, and then nodded, embarrassed.

"Well, if you don't have too much to do, could you keep me company?" I asked hopefully. I hadn't talked to a girl in weeks.

She smiled widely. "Oh, milady, I would be happy to."

I smiled back. Plenty of time to find out what she really wanted after a chat.

* * *

Thorn peeled his lip back and tasted the air. Metal-stickers and flying-pointed-sticks and other such weapons were being primed to enter the battle. His ears could hear the steady tramp of feet from afar, so enhanced they were. His tail twitched with nervous anticipation and fear. He could feel it, the battle rage that rose up to take control of his mind when they fought. It lingered like a predator would linger in wait for a wounded animal to fall. But Thorn was not a wounded animal and he _would not_ be that thing.

Opening his wings, he gave a powerful flap that propelled himself and Murtagh into the air ahead of the army, winging his way to battle.

He felt foreboding. If he let that thing take him over, something awful would happen. He could feel it in his bones.

And dragon bones were very good predictors of the future.


	12. Chapter 12

Hannah was a nice girl; I noticed that right off as we started talking. Too nice for this city. Sweet and helpful, she had a pretty smile. But there was something hiding behind her grey eyes. I made a mental note of it and searched for a word to put to it as we chatted.

I soon realized what it was: fear.

It was a perfectly reasonable thing to have, I told myself. There was about to be a _battle_, after all.

But it just didn't seem to fit right with what I had already deduced, that she didn't want to leave my room.

_Why my room?_

I laughed along with her as she made a funny comment, realizing, _she thinks it's safe._

"Hannah?" I asked, after a break in conversation.

"Yes, miss?" she said.

"Call me Aeneid," I said, brushing my red-gold hair out of my eyes. "Hannah, is there something wrong?"

The smile dropped off her face that fast, and she stared at her hands clenched in her lap.

"You can tell me," I said, "I won't tell anybody else. I promise."

Fiddling with her apron, she shook her head. "You don't need to hear my troubles, miss."

I reached over and grabbed onto her hands. "Aeneid," I reminded her. "Maybe not, but I think you need to tell someone. I don't mean to be nosy," I added, thinking how much _I_ would like it if someone pointed it out to me that I had a problem. _Not much, even though they'd probably be right._

"I don't want to go back to the kitchens," Hannah said softly, so softly I almost didn't hear her. I wasn't sure whether to keep asking why, but she continued by herself. "The soldiers have taken to hanging around the kitchens…and the maids."

"Oh," I said, in complete understanding. "But aren't they on the march today?"

"The reserves aren't," she said quietly.

"Well…can you tell someone that they're bothering you?" I wondered.

She shook her head. "If you complain, you'll get dismissed. They're the _king's_ soldiers. And I need this position…my family…" she trailed off.

I squeezed her hands in what I hoped was a reassuring way. "I know. You can come up here any time you like, Hannah."

"Thank you, mi-"

I gave her a look.

"I mean… Aeneid," she said, and giggled. I laughed. I needed this to keep my mind off of Murtagh.

* * *

Thorn snarled, throwing himself at the massive golden dragon. He tried to stay controlled rational, but it was hard, so hard, especially when he felt the desperation and despair coming from his rider's bond. He felt the same. _Where were you?_ He asked angrily. _Where were you when we needed you?_ The monster in his head sat coiled, patient. _I will not lose control,_ Thorn told himself.

"Up, Thorn!" Murtagh yelled. Thorn heard and disengaged from the other dragon, flying high, so high towards Gil'ead, where the air was thin; he sensed the plan. He was faster than the massive golden one, so he could hide in the clouds and circle back behind. He could feel his human rider tiring, even with the hearts hidden in the saddlebags. He growled. They would win this.

They had to.

Hurtling through the air, Thorn dove for the great back of the golden dragon. At the last second, the quick-lithe-wise-elf warned his bond partner, and he managed to twist, but barely. Thorn struck his shoulder, and they both tumbled through the air. Thorn gasped, trapped by the massive foreleg of the golden dragon that slowly squeezed. Snarling, he clawed his way out of the embrace.

The monster in his mind was smiling and eager.

_No,_ Thorn thought, even as he fought.

Then the sharp white incisors of the other man dug into Thorn's left hind leg. Thorn panicked, thrashing like a wild thing, fear taking root in his mind. _NO! Fight, bite, slash, rip, KILL –_

Their descent came to a screeching halt as the four combatants froze in midair. Then some unseen force propelled them up, higher and higher into the air until the oxygen thinned out and Thorn had to pant to get enough air into his lungs. But his mind was taken over by the battle rage. _Burn, bite, slash, fight, destroy…_ he hissed.

* * *

Riders. There was still a pair of dragon riders left in Alagaesia.

Murtagh had never felt so empty.

His sword arm was going numb from the number of blows he had exchanged with this elf for so long. All he could think was _why?_ Why now?

And he was afraid. Maybe this was one fight he wouldn't win. "Curse you!" he spat. "Curse you for not showing yourselves sooner! You could have _helped us!_ You could've –"

He stiffened, choking as some foreign presence invaded his mind with no warning, speaking his true name to get past his barriers. His whole body went cold and broke out with sweat, and when he opened his mouth, he spoke with another's voice.

Galbatorix's.

* * *

Thorn's chest heaved, straining for air and straining to throw the great bulk of the massive dragon. But the spell was strong and he could not breathe. He could feel the fear and the loathing coming from his bonded rider, and in his haze of bloodlust, it only fueled the determination to be free. The liar-snake-tongue-king-rex-Galbatorix had taken over Murtagh, speaking in his smooth, convincing voice, and Thorn would protect. _Protect, protect, _he thought. _Kill_.

The ancient one squeezed with his jaws, and Thorn howled. The oily voice kept talking from his rider's mouth, and Thorn wriggled anew. Then swords clashed.

Abruptly, the large maw opened and released the red dragon, and a great gold leg kicked him, trying to drive him away. But Thorn still couldn't move from his spot due to the spell. The blow reverberated through his body, shaking his tail and his skull. Thorn clawed back, his talons screeching against scales as a golden stick fell to the earth.

And then the giant dragon howled as though the world was ending.

A blast of magic threw Murtagh and Thorn away from the elf and dragon. They tumbled through the air, discombobulating Thorn and shaking the King's spell from Murtagh. Thorn's rider slumped against his shoulder, retching. Thorn shook himself from nose to tail and dove down after the golden one. _Protect. Fight, slash, gorge, hack –_

The gold one flew right at him, and at the last second, Thorn turned away and swerved –but the other dragon lunged for his tail and there was _pain and fire and anguish_ as the last three feet of his spine in his tail severed and fell away. Thorn screamed in agony, turning around and flapping his wings to go behind the dragon. The golden one could not twist fast enough.

Thorn's jaws snapped the spinal cord at the base of the large dragon's skull.

The body dropped, freefalling to earth.

Thorn hovered, shivering from tip to tail. He watched the golden wings crumple, no more commanding the air. He watched the limbs curl up into each other as the strong push of the air forced them up. He watched the body hit the earth, watched the earth spray up from the impact, and then saw the dust settle.

The battle rage drained away, leaving him cold and empty. His rider was motionless on his back, conscious, but barely. His tail ached as the blood left him.

His bones were never wrong.

As the enormity of what he had done sunk in, he began to wail.

* * *

"What is that?" I said, as roars reached my ears, though I had an idea.

"I don't know," Hannah whispered, her grey eyes huge.

I crossed to the window, which was wide and tall, and opened it, staring at the sky to see if I could see anything. Now that the glass was open, I could hear the very faint sounds of battle far away, but the roars had sounded so much closer… I turned around and tilted my head back to stare into the sky, straining for any glimpse of red that I could see…

"Is that the battle?" Hannah asked anxiously, staring at the mass on the horizon.

I couldn't tell. But I began to feel afraid.

A keening cry began to come closer and closer, and I instinctively reached out with my mind to whatever it was. I staggered as I touched Thorn's mind, because all I could feel was agony, physically and mentally.

"Aeneid?" Hannah said, grabbing me so I didn't fall. "What's the matter?"

"Get back," I said, pulling her away from the window three seconds before Thorn barreled through, making a shambles of the window sill and kicking a lot of plaster and stone work out of the room.

"Thorn?" I asked, getting a glimpse of blood, and a lot of it.

Then I caught sight of a white and still Murtagh on his back.

"Oh no," I whispered.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: So terribly sorry about the horribly long wait for this chapter. The only excuse I've got is either A) writer's block ate my story, or B) laziness ate my story. But they're sort of the same thing in the long run... Anyway. Here you go! Thank you so much for the reviews and encouragement.**

"Hold still," I told Thorn, and he complied, though his legs twitched and shivered as the muscles rippled. "Hannah, I need you to help me," I said, climbing up onto Thorn. Where were the buckles that would release his legs from the saddle?

"It's a dragon!" she squeaked, backing up.

"Yes, I know! I need you to catch his rider when I let him down," I said. "Thorn's not going to hurt you." My fingers scrabbled at the buckles before finally loosening them. Murtagh groaned. "Murtagh?" I said, touching his forehead. "I need you to wake up. Can you do that?"

His eyes fluttered open and locked onto mine. "Aeneid," he whispered with a dry throat.

"I'm here," I told him as my heart did a double back flip in my chest. "You're all right; I've got you."

"Aeneid," he said, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" I asked, bewildered.

His eyes were broken, tortured. "Everything," he whispered, and then his eyes closed.

"Murtagh," I said, refusing to give in to panic, even though I wanted to. His chest was still rising and falling, so he wasn't dying. He had just slipped into unconsciousness. "Hannah, take him," I said, lifting him with difficulty out of the saddle and down. Hannah, with many glances at Thorn, was able to catch him as he came down, and I scrambled off Thorn's back.

Helping her put him on the bed, I smoothed his hair away from his face, frowning in concern. He didn't seem to have any visible wounds, and Thorn did, so I left him after a long glance and went to see about Thorn.

_What happened? _I asked him as he turned his tail painfully slowly toward me.

_There was another dragon, _he said in a very small voice.

I stared at his bloody tail and the mangled flesh that ended much sooner than it should have_. It should be bleeding more than this, _I thought, not sure if that was good or bad.

_Murtagh stopped it,_Thorn said.

I bit my lip in consternation. I had no healing gifts. I didn't know what to do. "Thorn," I whispered, "Where did Murtagh put Wenneveria?"

* * *

I pulled open the cabinet's doors, relieved to see the familiar sight of the Eldunarí sword in front of me. I started to reach for her, and then hesitated. _Thorn, am I going to get frozen by that spell?_

_Yes,_ he said, and I could hear the distance in his voice.

_It will be all right, _I told him.

_No it won't,_ he whispered. _I killed him._

_What?_ I didn't know what he meant.

_I killed him. The dragon._ His eyes closed, and I got a wave of just what he thought of himself. And it wasn't pretty.

_Thorn, no,_ I said, placing my hand on his nose. 

_The last dragon from the time before Galbatorix, and I killed him. What am I, Aeneid? What am I? Because I_ can't_ call myself a dragon anymore._

My heart cracked from all the emotion pouring out of Thorn, and I got a glimpse of his memories –feeling trapped, suffocated by the rage that poured through him, not able to control it. Fear from having his rider taken over by –by _Galbatorix,_ I realized. My gag reflex kicked in, but nothing came up my throat. Hearing just the echo of that man's voice in memory sent shudders down my spine. I felt the horror Thorn felt when he realized what he had done, and I remembered that Thorn wasn't that old. His growth had been accelerated. He wasn't that much older …than a baby.

_No!_ I thought emphatically. _I know you, Thorn, and you are not a murderer. That was Galbatorix, _not_ you._

_You have to help me, Thorn,_ I told him. _I need you. We have to do something._ I turned back to the cabinet. _How am I going to do this? _

_I release you from your oath, Aeneid, _Thorn whispered, and a popping noise accompanied his words.

_Just like that?_ I thought wonderingly.

He nodded, and I thought I saw a spark of resolution in his eyes. Good. I reached for Wenneveria and braced myself as I touched her hilt.

Nothing happened.

_Yes!_ I exclaimed, pulling her out. _Wenneveria, I need your help!_ I quickly recounted everything that had happened.

_Dear one, I cannot help you with your Rider,_ Wenneveria said softly. _He is lost within his mind. He is the one that must find his way back. _

_But what am I to do?_ I asked. Thorn's tail was worrying me, and an unconscious Murtagh, plus an army coming ever closer… and Hannah. Oops, forgot about Hannah.

"Hannah, this is Thorn and Murtagh," I said, pointing to each respectively. I didn't introduce Wenneveria because that would have complicated matters enormously. Actually, Hannah was still staring in shock at the large hole in the wall and probably wasn't listening.

Thorn wasn't really focusing on anything. _  
Wenneveria, you need to talk to your son,_ I said, and put the sword near Thorn. I would just have to deal with Murtagh, and then I would…um…

_You don't have a clue, Aeneid,_ I told myself. _Admit it._

"Aeneid," Hannah said, and her voice had an urgent tone.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I think you should see this," she whispered.

I went to her side at the window and stared in shock –and if I was honest with myself, awe –at the wave of elves in the distance coming closer and closer.

"They're not stopping," Hannah said, with wide frightened eyes. "They just keep coming."

"Their last dragon and his rider were just killed in front of them," I whispered. "They're angry. So angry…" I let my mind wander, feeling the determination and the rage building. "I don't think the army is going to stop them. I don't think they want to," I added, seeing some small clumps of soldiers break formation from the outer edge of the Empire's forces and run. "Hannah…what you said about the elves… do you think other people feel the same way? Afraid?"

She nodded emphatically.

I turned my gaze back to the landscape and the veritable tidal wave of elves. They wouldn't stop. They would do whatever it took to avenge their fallen dead. They would take the city eventually. And then they would find Murtagh and Thorn who were –in their minds –murderers.

_They have to get out of here,_ I thought. _We have to get out of here. _Panic bubbled in my stomach at the thought of what the elves might do to them if they stayed here. Thorn could still fly –we could escape. But where could we go? Thorn would need attention sooner or later, and Murtagh…

I had no idea what to do with Murtagh.

But the important thing was, they couldn't stay here. "Hannah," I said, "Will you help me pack?"

* * *

Hannah and I ran around, stuffing things into bags and strapping them onto Thorn. He still wasn't talking to me, but I could feel a connection between him and Wenneveria, so I left the two of them alone. I figured I would strap Murtagh into the saddle –there seemed to be enough buckles and straps for that –and then I would sit behind him. The only direction I really had in mind was south, because the Varden was there.

I was the courier of the last dragon egg, even if I didn't get it all the way there. Surely that would have some influence. And there was Murgatroyd to vouch for me, if he had made it there. I hoped so. They probably would treat Murtagh no more favorably than the elves, but they would have cool heads. If I could explain…

I rubbed my head. Even if Murtagh and Thorn were prisoners of the Varden, they'd no longer be under Galbatorix's influence. That, at least, was something.

I reached over Thorn to rearrage some of the packs, and nearly dropped the one I had just unfastened. It was heavy! I heaved it over his back and onto the ground as what sounded like rocks shifted inside. _We don't need to carry anything that isn't necessary, _I thought, unfastening the bag and reaching in to dump out the contents. _Thorn doesn't need that strain right–_

I nearly screamed as agony slammed into my brain, making my vision go dark and fire gush in my veins. I tried to drop whatever it was, but it felt like its smooth surface was glued to my fingers. ****

**_Pain!_** An female voice roared. **_Agony, misery, anguish! Not again! Not again!_**

Something was making my ears ring. It sounded like me, screaming. I felt hands grab my shoulders and a far-off voice say, "Aeneid! Can you hear me? Aeneid!"

A sliver of clarity entered my brain. _For goodness' sake, girl, put up mental blocks!_

That sounded like Wenneveria. But what were mental blocks?

Oh, wait. I thought of a wall, hard and cold, protecting my mind. Slowly but surely, I edged the pain into a corner, and then it receded entirely. I discovered my eyes were squeezed tightly shut, so I opened them.

"Aeneid?" Hannah asked, sounding frantic.

"I'm okay," I said, breathing slowly and snatching my hand away from the bag.

_Wenneveria, what _was_ that?_

Her answer came slowly, but it was full of sadness and grief. _An Eldunarí, child. _

My eyes snapped wide and took in the pack in front of me. _Murtagh has an Eldunari? _I thought.

_Murtagh has a **pack full** of Eldunarí,_ Wenneveria corrected me.

My mouth dropped open and I carefully opened the pack, careful not to touch the contents. The light caught the objects within and made them glow in all colors of the rainbow. Some were fist sized, others larger, some smaller –one was almost a pebble. A few just looked like round or oval rocks with a smooth surface. Others had rough exteriors and sharp protrusions. I didn't know how many there were; the bag was pretty decent sized.

_Why does he have them?_ I wondered, very confused but beginning to have an inkling of what was going on.

_We are a power source,_ Wenneveria whispered. _The usurper king gave your rider these to give him power. He has many, many more._

_This is wrong! _I exclaimed. _Wrong!_

I opened my mind slightly, wary of more incapacitating pain, and reached out to the Eldunarí. _It's all right. I'm a friend, _I said in the ancient language.

Whispers filled my mind. _Please, oh please, you must help us,_ the dragons' hearts whispered. _It is so very, very dark, and we are so alone. _

_What can I do? _I whispered softly.

**_Smash us,_** they hissed.

I recoiled away from the bag. _But I can't do that!_ I insisted.

_You must. We are tired of being used. Tired of this existence, trapped in these shells, feeling nothing, seeing only glimpses from the minds of others. We will not stand the chance to be used by Galbatorix or his rider again. _

I shook my head, even as I tried to think of something else. _But… the Varden! They need you. Your wisdom, help –_

_No._ The voices said as one. _We do not wish to stay like this. We cannot stay like this. Let us finally die, and go to the place beyond, where we will have wings once again._

_I can't kill you!_ I nearly sobbed.

_You must. This existence is horrible. This is not **life**._

Rubbing the tears that threatened to spill over from my eyes, I dragged my hand over my nose and mouth, sniffing.

"Aeneid," Hannah asked, very confused. "What's the matter?"

"Hannah," I asked, and thankfully my voice didn't quaver, "How tall are these staircases?"

"Tall," she said, not understanding. "Three floors, in this section. Why?"

"Do you think if I dropped something, it would land hard enough to break?" I whispered, staring at the beautiful Eldunarí nestled in the pack.

"I suppose so," Hannah said.

I swallowed and stood, lifting the pack into my arms. "I need your help."

**Please review! :) By my calculations there should only be 2 or 3 more chapters, so that will help me finish! :D  
**


	14. Chapter 14

"I don't understand," Hannah said as we stood at the top of the stairwell. "Why do you need to break them? They're so pretty."

I looked at the Eldunarí in the pack in my hands and didn't know what to say. _They asked me to?_ _They've been trapped for too long? They want to be free?_

Short of sounding crazy, I might start crying.

"I don't think I can do this," I whispered to myself.

"What's the matter?" Hannah asked, reaching into the bag. "They're just -"

"Don't!" I exclaimed, but it was too late.

She jumped back with a frightened squeak, staring at me. "There was a voice! Inside my head, there was a voice! Aeneid, what _are _they?" Panic was written all over her face.

"I'm not entirely sure, but…when a dragon dies…sometimes their mind, their soul, goes into these things. They used to be part of the dragon."

"They're minds of _dragons?"_ Hannah asked.

"Something like that, yes," I whispered. "Galbatorix –and Murtagh… used them for power, to help them do things they couldn't do on their own. But they want to die now. They don't want to be used by the king anymore."

Our eyes met, and I could see she understood. "How awful it must be," she whispered. "I'm so sorry!"

_We have lived for more years than you can remember, _the Eldunarí whispered. _We have lived full lives with our riders until the Fall and the rise of the false king. We have been used for a hundred years. It is time for us to go._

I picked up an oval Eldunarí, the size of my two cupped palms, in a shade of robin's egg blue. "Are you sure?" I asked.

_Yes. My name is Kendriflyca Widewings, and it is my time._

_Fly with grace,_ I whispered, and let go of her over the side of the railing. The blue color streaked down until it hit the floor, smashing into pieces. I wondered if it was my imagination or the tears in my eyes that made it seem like the color of the shards paled in hue slightly, as if the thing that had given the Eldunarí its color had gone.

Hannah and I dropped them over the side of the stairs until the stone floor at the bottom was littered with shards in all hues and colors. It seemed for all the world as if a rainbow had fallen from the sky and broken on the ground. We would always ask them if they were sure, and they would tell us their names, and we let them go with as much reverence as we could.

We cried for all of them.

When it came to the last few Eldunarí, I picked up a coal black one with rough spikes that fit snugly into the palm of my left hand. "Are you sure?" I whispered.

_No,_ a male dragon's voice echoed in my head. _I am one of the youngest –Fenrass Cloudsweeper –and I do not want to leave this world just yet. Galbatorix still must answer for much. _

I wept again, but this time from tears of joy.

In the end, we were left with three Eldunarí who had decided not to pass into the void just yet. Besides Fenrass, there was Gentari Lightclaw, which looked like a very large rose-colored pearl, and Sevramm Ibisjorn, who was a deep maroon.

_Not everyone has to die today,_ I told myself as I wiped my face and my nose (which had started to run).

That sparked a very different thought in my mind. "Hannah!" I exclaimed, picking up the Eldunarí and running back into the room. She followed me close behind. I set the three down by Wenneveria and rushed to the window.

The elves were closer. Much closer. And Thorn could not carry more than two in his state.

I turned to her. "Hannah, I can't take you with me," I told her anxiously.

She blinked. "I never expected to go, Miss. This is my home. I can't leave it."

_"Aeneid_," I reminded her. "The elves are coming, though. They will take the city. You don't support Galbatorix, do you?"

"Oh, no!" Hannah said. "We all just must do the best we can, because what can we do about him?" she asked, rhetorically.

"I have no idea, but I know what you can do about the elves," I said to her. "Go on out, into the city –tell your friends, family, anyone, to get themselves out of the way of the fighting, and if they see any elves, say "_Eka mulabra ono né haina_."

"What does it mean?" Hannah asked with wide eyes.  
"I mean you no harm," I translated, wishing my knowledge was a bit more advanced so I could tell her more. "But you have to mean it, Hannah," I said. "The Ancient language doesn't let you lie. If you want to add _Eka aí fricai_, you can. It means 'I am a friend'. You've got to mean that too."

She nodded in understanding, and I had her repeat the words several more times before I was sure she had got it right. "I need to go," I told her, glancing at the sky. "We've…we've got some ground to cover."

"Let me help you get your man onto his dragon," Hannah said, going to the bed where Murtagh still lay.

"He's not my man, Hannah," I told her.

She helped me pick him up and shot me a look that said, 'really?' in a very sarcastic tone. I blushed. "You wouldn't be going to all this trouble for him, if he wasn't your man," Hannah said, in a matter-of-fact way.

I really had no response to that.

We managed to get Murtagh in the saddle, and I worked on strapping down his arms, since that required me to stand on Thorn and balance precariously between his tall spikes, while Hannah worked on his legs. Murtagh was still unconscious, and very pale –the color of good parchment. Lost within his mind –that couldn't be good. But whatever training Murtagh had gotten with regards to mental blocks, it was positively brilliant, because his walls were still holding. And I wasn't nearly brave enough –or foolhardy enough –to try to get past him. I could do him more harm.

I did up the last buckle and jumped down, tucking the three Eldunarí into a pouch at my waist and returning Wenneveria to my scabbard. It felt right to have a sword at my hip. I didn't know how much, until I had her back. I rubbed my hands together and mumbled, "I suppose this is goodbye…"

"Not forever," Hannah said, surprising me. She was full of surprises, this girl. "The war will end. And you'll come back to Gil'ead, and see just how it has changed –" she stopped, like there was something caught in her throat.

"Will you be the one to change it, Hannah?" I asked, smiling.

She shrugged, but I could see a small smile playing at her mouth. "So you see, it isn't goodbye, not really, just… 'until we meet again', Aeneid."

"Until we meet again, Hannah," I said, giving her a hug, and she returned it in kind. "Go on," I said, letting her go. "Go and tell the people –go save the city."

She nodded solemnly. "_Eka mulabra ono né haina. Eka aí fricai_. Was that right?" she asked.

"Perfect," I said, refusing to shed more tears today.

She nodded. There seemed to be no more words to say. With another glance at me, she disappeared down the corridor, and the last sight of her dark hair in its bun was gone.

I took in a deep breath and wondered aloud in a quiet voice, "Was our meeting more beneficial to her or to me?"

_To both of you, _Wenneveria said gently inside my head. _But now we must fly, dear one._

I climbed up behind Murtagh's prone form and patted Thorn gently, as I might have reassured a horse, though I meant no disrespect to him. It just seemed a natural thing to do. _It will be all right,_ I told him. _Come on, Thorn. Time to fly; do you think you can?_

He bravely got up and walked to the window, shaking out his wings in preparation. I could feel little stray twinges of agony from his tail, and I wished that I could do magic as easily as I entered minds. Then at least, I might help him a little more. He judged he needed more room, and backed up a bit, before launching himself at the opening and spreading his wings just as he was clear of the walls. I hung on tightly to the saddle and Murtagh, because Thorn had to flap furiously to get up to some good air currents.

When he finally reached the height at which to fly well, I wish I could say it was smooth sailing from then on, but it wasn't. As I understood it, tails for dragons were like the rudders of a ship –they helped steer. Thorn's rudder was shorter than he was used to, and so whenever he twitched his tail to turn, he needed to do it much bigger than he had. Realizing this, he tried to compensate –and usually ended up overcompensating. It was a good hour and a half before he got the hang of how to fly with this shortened appendage.

And so we flew South.

South-east, to be precise, over the plains between the Spine and the Ramr River. It was a wide stretch of land, mostly uninhabited except for a few scattered villages and nomads. We always camped somewhere remote and tried to stay unseen, though I prayed that if someone did see us, they would know Thorn as the dragon of the king's rider and not try to stop us.

On the morning of the fifth day, I saw the Varden camp sitting on the plains by the lone mountain that rises out of the ground between Belatona and Feinster.

_Land, Thorn,_ I told him. _Maybe we will be seen as less of a threat if we come in at a walk._ He agreed, though I could sense a great deal of unease from him, and landed on the plains quite well. He was almost used to his tail by now. I dismounted and walked beside Thorn, with my hand on Wenneveria for reassurance.

I opened my mind, searching for someone familiar.

_Well, it certainly took you long enough,_ Murgatroyd griped in my head. _What was the holdup?_

_Oh, nothing,_ I said, bubbling over with relief and joy. _Just a little crisis involving being taken prisoner to Gil'ead and sort of escaping with the king's rider and his dragon._

_Are you jesting?_ He asked me.

_Do I ever jest?_ I asked him, and I could feel his amusement. _Tell who you think should know,_ I said. _And get a healer. Thorn's tail is in a bad way, and Murtagh is unconscious._ I had taken the time to dribble water and soup down his throat whenever we made camp, and he didn't choke, so I assumed he swallowed it, but surely that wasn't enough nutrients for five days.

_I'll tell them,_ Murgatroyd assured me._ We have a surprise for you as well._

_What?_ I asked, blinking in surprise.

_No peeking,_ he said, closing off his memories. _See you in a bit._ He closed our link, and just in time, because the guards around the perimeter seemed to have spotted us. We kept walking, however, and they didn't try to attack. In a few minutes a group of figures peeled away from the stand of tents and wagons to walk towards me, and I gulped as a large blue dragon shouldered its way out of the tents to follow them.

_She,_ Thorn corrected me. _She._

_You know her?_ I asked.

_We've fought before._

Wonderful. I might have a dragon fight on my hands. _Thorn, don't do anything rash. They can help us,_ I told him.

_I know. I trust her shur'tugal._

_Why?_ I wondered. What was so special about the other dragon's rider?

_He and Murtagh are brothers._

I stared at the small group that came toward us slowly. On the one hand, I wanted to demand how he knew this, but on the other… I just wanted to stand there in shock.

Brothers.

Oh my.

* * *

**AN: as I wrote this chapter, it popped into my head that some people might see the deaths of the Eldunarí as some sort of assisted suicide thing, and I had a mini panic session. IT IS NOT LIKE THAT AT ALL. IT IS NEVER GOOD TO KILL YOURSELF OR TO KILL OTHER PEOPLE OR TO HELP KILL SOMEONE ELSE. Just don't do it. If this is anything like the real world at all, it's like... knowing someone very old that doesn't want to stay around and keep being sick and infirm and weak because they know they're going to Heaven and getting new bodies and health and everything. That's what it's most like in my mind, because there's joy behind it.**

**_"Behold, I am making everything new!" _ Like that.**

**Please review!**


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: THIS IS IT! Last chapter. And this story will get edited eventually...just not now. The ending is left sort of open on purpose for your ideas to kind of take wing and also I wasn't trying to write the fourth book before it comes out in...November, I think? And the end is kind of fluffy. But I like fluff, so sue me. Thank you so much for sticking with this story; I greatly appreciate you all!**

I was going for dignified. I really was. It seemed like something I could accomplish in spite of the nerves and the butterflies that were whizzing about in my stomach. I was just going to walk up to them… I'd bow… or curtsey, maybe… though I was wearing trousers now –that would look odd –but then I'd respectfully explain the situation and… then I'd… well, I didn't really know what I'd do then, but I never got as far as the bow before a streak of fur came flying at me and hit me right in the chest.

It was enough to send me backwards and land on the grass with an 'oomph!' As you might remember, Murgatroyd is not the lightest of werecats.

"Yes, Murgatroyd, I missed you too," I mumbled as he sat on my chest and purred loudly into my face, "but it might be a little easier to explain all of this if I was upright."

_Hogwash,_ he said, lashing his tail back and forth, managing to drum it into my sides as well. _I've already explained half of it. Angela will like you right off, and so will Saphira. Eragon and Nasuada might take more convincing, but given time, they'll come around. _

_Who?_ I asked him, right before something huge and blue invaded my vision.

_This is Saphira,_ Murgatroyd helpfully pointed out, before settling on my stomach.

"Pleased to meet you," I managed to say after a minute of staring up at this huge blue eye. _Why do I always manage to meet dragons on my back?_ I wondered to myself, thinking of when Thorn inspected me for the first time. Speaking of which… I craned my neck to see if he was okay. He seemed fine… to a point. He had pulled himself inward and seemed to be trying to make himself as small as possible. His mutilated tail was wrapped around himself tightly, his wings were pulled in to his body, and his claws were flexing, but other than that, he seemed okay.

_I am glad that you are here,_ a female voice said in a matter-of-fact tone. _I can finally stop mothering this thing. _

_I beg your pardon?_ I asked, confused. I hadn't been expecting that.

_She is a handful,_ Saphira said.

"Saphira, couldn't you have waited a little bit?" a man's voice asked.

_No, _Saphira said. _The youngling is enough to drive me mad._ She pulled back, and I could see the sky again.

I sat up and picked myself up off the ground, holding Murgatroyd securely in my arms, though he yowled. _This isn't dignified,_ he complained.

_Neither is launching yourself at me,_ I said, putting him on my shoulder. There was a lot of Murgatroyd to fit on my shoulder, but he managed, and only dug his claws in once.

I studied the three people in front of me. One woman had dark ebony skin and a sharp gaze. She seemed to be in charge, since the other two deferred to her. The woman on her left had crazy curly hair and a grin on her face. Another werecat –I stared –sat by her feet. The man was _strange. _He had ears that tapered to points, like the elves I recalled in my ancestor's notebooks, but his face was too broad and strong to be an elf's. He was frowning.

_He doesn't look like Murtagh_, I found myself thinking.

The ebony woman cleared her throat and said, "I am Lady Nasuada, leader of the Varden. I hear you are our missing dragon egg courier."

"Yes, my lady," I said, not feeling equal to this woman, though I had the same title as she. "Aeneid Fior." I gave a little bow, holding onto Murgatroyd to keep him from falling off.

"And you managed to escape with my brother and his dragon," the man said, glaring at Thorn. "How on earth did you manage _that_?"

"Eragon," Lady Nasuada said, in a warning tone. "This isn't the time or the place."

"They committed _murder_!" Eragon exclaimed. "There_ is_ no time or place for that!"

"It was Galbatorix!" I snapped hotly. "He was in control, not Murtagh. And he did something to Thorn to make him… lose control like that." I had deduced as much in nighttime conversations with the red dragon. Galbatorix's growth enhancements had also included other things. "They both need a healer," I said, stepping towards Thorn. "Thorn's tail –and Murtagh is unconscious."

"Sounds like a job for me," the lady with the curly hair piped up. "I'm Angela," she said, flashing me a smile. "That's Solembum." The werecat blinked up at me.

"Can you help him?" I asked hopefully.

"I'll do my very best," Angela said. "I'm very good, you know. Except on Mondays…Mondays always get me." She grinned. "Thank goodness today is Thursday. Come along," she said, motioning to Thorn. "You too, Saphira. It'll help him relax."

I wondered just what this woman meant by 'relax,' and concluded she must mean, 'stay on edge as all-get-out due to another dragon being in the room.'  
Thorn looked to me for direction, but as I didn't have another option, I nodded to him. _It will be all right, Thorn,_ I told him.

Nasuada said, "Tell my guards waiting at the entrance of the camp to guard Thorn and Murtagh at all times." I opened my mouth to protest, but she continued, "It's as much for their protection as for their imprisonment."

Thorn reluctantly followed Angela, still hunkering down. He knew he was in enemy territory. The blue dragon followed them at a distance, keeping her eyes on Thorn.

"It _wasn't_ his fault," I again told Lady Nasuada and Eragon.

"That does not change the fact that it is done," Nasuada began, and then Eragon interjected.

"Figuring out just who is guilty and what is to be done with them can wait until they're better," he said decidedly.

"Then can I go with them? To help?" I asked.

They both stared at me, as if they weren't expecting that to come out of my mouth.  
"I don't see why not," Nasuada said slowly. Her face clearly said, _why does this girl want to stay with the ones who held her captive?_ I didn't really care what she thought.

"There's something you need to take care of first, and then you can assist Angela," Eragon said.

"What is it?" I asked, brushing my hair behind me as a wind sprang up.

"Follow me," he said.

Murgatroyd jumped down from my shoulder and padded silently beside me in the grass as we walked toward the camp. _I'll go tell Angela you're coming, _he said, trotting off. I nodded.

The second we were within the perimeter an assortment of guards surrounded Nasuada, keeping back the press of people gawking.

"I shall place Aeneid in your care," she said to Eragon. "He knows better about these things than I," she said to me, as an aside.

"My lady, there is a matter I need to speak to you about…" one of her commanders said.

"Go on," she waved us away. "Now what is it?" she asked him.

Eragon walked around the edge of the camp (I wondered if it was to avoid some of the curious crowd) to a very large tent and held the flap open for me. I stepped in and looked around. There wasn't much to see –just the necessities a soldier would need when on the march.

I jumped as something scrabbled in a dark corner.

"It's all right," Eragon said, calling out to whatever-it-was. "You can come out. She's finally here." He smiled for the first time, and I marveled at what a change it made on his face. I didn't have much time to study it, though, because the rustling sound grew louder, and then something small and greenish tumbled out into the open.

I gasped as it scurried hesitantly towards us. It was a dragon… a very tiny dragon. Its tail twitched in the lamp-lit tent, and it gazed inquisitively at me. Its scales were sea green, with just a touch of silver…the very same shade as the egg I had carried.

"It hatched?" I asked. "The egg hatched?"

"Yes," Eragon said.

"To whom?" I asked, touched at the adorableness of the little thing.

"You, we assume."

I whirled around and stared at Eragon. "Me? It can't have. I didn't touch it." He just looked at me. "It wasn't supposed to hatch for me. It's _not_ me!"

"The only other person it was around was Murgatroyd and your horse," Eragon said, grinning. "It's you. The dragon picks its rider, you know. I guess she liked you."

"She?" I repeated, turning again to the little dragon.

"Yes. Go on, say hello."

_It's a dragon. She's a dragon, and I'm her rider. I am a dragon rider. _

"But I'm not…I'm not a rider. I'm just me," I whispered.

"And I was just a farm boy before I found Saphira's egg," Eragon said. I stared at him. He looked nothing like a farm boy. "You're actually more equipped for the task ahead of you than I was. Murgatroyd told me you know how to handle a sword, how to protect your mind, and a rudimentary knowledge of the Ancient language. So you see, you're one of the best people for the job. Go on and meet your dragon."

His words really hit me, and I began to ask myself, _is he right? _I turned to the little one hesitantly. Crouching down on the ground, I held out my hand. "Hello," I crooned with my voice as well as my mind, though this little one's brain was too new to really think back at me. "Don't be scared. I'm Aeneid." Would she know me?

She scooted up close to me, sniffing around. I could feel her body heat and see the veins in the thin wing membranes. She was so beautiful. Her eyes blinked slowly as she stretched out her nose to touch my palm–

Something as cold as ice and much more painful shot into my hand and traveled up the length of my arm, like cold fire. I yelled and fell back onto the ground as pain decided to take over and make the rest of me a freezing bundle of misery. I shuddered, and that was much as I could move. Wiggling my fingers felt like they might break off.

Finally I began to feel warmth again, spreading from my heart out to my limbs and taking away the chill. A small body was rubbing itself against my side. "What was that?" I said. "What on earth just happened?" I brought my hand in front of my face and stared at the white mark in the middle of it. It shimmered in the light.

This little one had been taking lessons from Murgatroyd. She climbed up and sat on my chest as she stared into my face, concerned.

"I'm okay," I said, to reassure her. I carefully picked her up –she was light enough to do that, but only just –and sat up, glaring at Eragon. "What just happened?" I demanded.

"You bonded," he said, like it was obvious. "You are now dragon and rider."

"You could have warned me," I muttered, stroking the velvety wings.

"And deprive you of the surprise? Never," he said, smirking. "Do you still want to go to Angela's now?"

"Yes, please," I said, and I felt a little mind burrow its way into mine, but instead of most people's words just floating by, this mind felt real–like it had a right to be there.

I got a picture of a lot of blue scales.

_You want to see Saphira?_ I asked.

_Blue. Blue._

_Okay, we'll go see her._ Looking at this little dragon, it was so hard to believe that she would get to be as big as Thorn and Saphira. "Lead the way," I told Eragon.

* * *

There was another quite large tent; big enough to accommodate Thorn and part of Saphira, as well as Angela and a bed on which Murtagh lay. "I see you two found each other," Angela said, looking from me to my dragon, who had gone straight for Saphira –what a strange concept, 'my' dragon. I looked at Murtagh on the bed, still asleep.

"He hasn't woken up?" I asked in a small voice.

"No," Angela said. "He's not hurt physically –aside from the odd cuts and bruises. He's just…"

"Lost," I whispered, sitting in the empty chair beside the bed, not sure whether or not to smooth his hair out of his eyes.

"That's a good way of putting it," Angela said.

_Youngling,_ someone said, and it took me a good minute to realize it was Wenneveria. _It is time for me and my brethren to do our good for the Varden,_ she said.

_Oh! I'm sorry… I didn't think…_ I began to get up.

_No, dear one,_ she said. _You need to stay here. My daughter and the rider need you now. Give us to Eragon, and let your worry go._

_I want to help, too, _I protested.

_You need to help Murtagh now,_ she said.

I began to unbuckle my scabbard. _Thank you, Wenneveria._ I held out the sword and the pouch from my belt to Eragon, who was still standing there. He stared at me with an expression on his face that clearly wondered, _'What are you giving me this sword for?'_

"Um…this is Wenneveria," I said. "She and the others want to help you." I wondered if I should explain what an Eldunarí was…

_Hello, young man, _Wenneveria said. _The others and I will assist you in whatever ways you may need. Aeneid will stay with your kin. _

I judged the eyebrows rising into his hairline to be an indication that if he hadn't known before, he sure knew now.

"This is an unexpected gift, but a very welcome one," Eragon said, rather taken aback. _There's someone you may like to meet. I think it will do him good._ He took the Eldunarí and left Angela and I alone.

"What can I do for him?" I asked her, as she stirred something in a pot.

"Not much," she said. "He's just sleeping. These types of slumbers can go on for a long time, or a short time. But sometimes people can hear us."

"What, even asleep?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, and then guffawed.

I turned to see Saphira dangling my dragon from her mouth. _When you are not speaking to Murtagh, please restrain this youngster. She is too rambunctious for her own good. _

* * *

The armies marched onward, and I did my best to help Angela, since she had many other things she liked to do in addition to caring for Murtagh. Eragon, who was getting to be a little less imposing since Saphira shared many embarrassing stories about him, said that he would train me when my dragon got older. My girl had decided she liked the name Flareivel, and I called her Flare for short.

Flare and Thorn's parentage to Wenneveria had been revealed, and I hoped that would put in some good points for Murtagh and Thorn, but right now, they were still unofficial prisoners. Thorn's tail was healing nicely, but it would never grow back. Saphira had downright ignored him at first –I realized later that she and Eragon had known the gold dragon and his rider. It was her way of dealing with the loss around Thorn. But Wenneveria later told me that the dragon, called Glaedr, was now an Eldunarí as well, and that did Thorn some good, to know that what he had done had not quite all of the despicable consequences that he had thought it had.

I got the impression that he had something of a crush on Saphira, so when she finally began acknowledging his existence, that helped him as well.

I didn't venture out much around the Varden camp, so I didn't _really_ know what people thought about Thorn and Murtagh being here, but Angela said she told some people off quite eloquently when they made a fuss about it, and there hadn't been too much loud protest since.

But Murtagh still would not wake up.

I was sitting in the tent beside his bed one morning, just…talking to him. "You know, it's really worrying me that you won't wake up," I said, brushing some hair off of his forehead. "Angela says we just have to wait, but I'm so sick of waiting. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I tried to push my way in past the barriers in your mind… but I know I shouldn't. They'll come down… or you'll come out… in your own sweet time."

I leaned forward, taking his limp hand in mine. "Do you remember when we danced, in that ballroom?" I whispered. "I wish we could go back to that. It felt like I had known you forever… and then I really got to know you, and it _was_…"

I couldn't think of what I wanted to convey. "You just need to wake up," I told him. "You need to meet Flare, and talk to Thorn, and settle things with your brother… you need to smile. When you smile, your whole face changes." I pictured his face breaking out into a grin, and something in my chest constricted.

I ran the backs of my fingers down his cheek, which was getting very prickly. "You need to shave," I said, smirking. "You need to have solid food. You need to change your true name."

"You need to kiss me again," I whispered in his ear. "But to do all these things, you've got to wake up."

Flare woke up from her nap in the corner and coaxed me away from Murtagh to play her favorite game, yank-the-rope-away-from-Aeneid. I never had to do much –just hold the rope until she got ahold of it with her sharp teeth and proceeded to 'kill' it. Our link had strengthened and now she was speaking in disjointed sentences, and I thought it was the most adorable thing I had ever heard. Listening to Thorn, Wenneveria, and Saphira, I would have never thought it was possible to be anything less than sagacious.

I laughed as she tore her rope out of my hand and growled, shaking it around and coasting around in the tent as she shredded it with her sharp claws. _Flare, what are you doing?_

_Rope dead!_ She proclaimed happily, landing on the ground delicately. _Hold it again, Aeneid?_

I agreed, taking hold of the rope –rope number six, to be exact. We'd need a rope number seven soon. Flare took off into the air and performed a sneak attack, diving on the rope and rolling around with it in her clutches. I could see how Saphira had gotten fed up with her after a while, but I could do nothing but grin like a fool.

All of a sudden, Flare froze in the middle of the floor, staring behind me with her tail and wings pricked. I turned to see what she was looking at, and my heart tripped in my chest, as the previously motionless form of Murtagh was now trying to push himself up.

"Murtagh!" I exclaimed, rushing to him. "I've got you, I've got you," I said, helping him sit up. "You're awake! Are you alright?"

"Water," he whispered, and I held the cup for him as he drank. His eyes stared at me over the rim, like he could look at nothing else. "I heard you," he whispered, once he had drunk his fill. "I heard everything you said when I was sleeping. All of it," he said, his dark eyes looking into mine.

I swallowed thickly. "Angela said you might be able to, so I talked… but how?"

"I don't know," he said. "But I did. And …I realized what you meant, all those days ago, when you said I could change my name." He shook his head. "I didn't want to wake up because it would be just like before –Galbatorix's puppet, his slave. But now I know what you meant," he whispered, "When you said it would be so easy."

Had he done it? Had he finally seen what I had seen? Hope started rising and wouldn't be suppressed. "The boy who couldn't love," I whispered, the equivalent of his true name in our ordinary tongue.

His eyes searched my face and nodded. "But you taught me that we _always_ have a choice. And isn't that what love is? A choice?"

I nodded.

"This is me, choosing to love," he whispered, before his lips grazed mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck, afraid that if I let go, I would lose him again. But I needn't have worried. I don't know what it was, but I could feel something change –between us, and in Murtagh.

It was something like the breaking of chains, and I knew that he had done it.

_This is what joy feels like,_ I told myself, wishing the kiss would never end.

Flare had other plans. She weaseled her way in between us and rubbed up against my arm. Murtagh pulled away from me to stare inquisitively at her. Flare wriggled happily at the attention.

"This is Flare," I said, "my dragon."

His dark gaze snapped up to mine in shock. I shyly showed him my oval mark, which Eragon had told me was called a _gedwëy ignasia_. "You've been asleep," I told him. "You've missed some things."

"I suppose I'll have to catch up," Murtagh said, rubbing the mark on my palm with his hand, and revealing his own shining oval.

"Yeah," I whispered. "I guess you will. Make up for all that lost time."

He kissed me again, and I smiled, overflowing with joy.

* * *

Epilogue

_The rest of this story is pretty simple. We won the war, not Galbatorix. Alagaesia was put to rights. I went back to Gil'ead and found Hannah, and I met her husband and children. Nasuada was installed as the new queen, and a treaty between elves, humans, dwarves, and Urgals was created. We had peace._

_There were always people, and always_ will be_ people who don't fully trust Murtagh, but I was never one of them. _

_How can you not trust the person you're married to?_

This concludes the story of Aeneid Fior, dragon egg courier, dragon rider, and the story of Destiny.


End file.
